


A Good End

by Ms_Anthrop



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drama, Enemies to Friends, F/M, Family Drama, Forgiveness, Gen, Healers, Hurt/Comfort, Medicine, Mental Health Issues, Pining, Science, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:07:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 39,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23145166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ms_Anthrop/pseuds/Ms_Anthrop
Summary: Memory is only half the story when it comes to the bonds uniting love and family; when Severus Snape learns that Hermione Granger has lost her parents because of the war, he steps in to help her restore their memories. But not all goes to plan, in ways both beautiful and terrible. Can Hermione forgive Severus after he breaks trust with her?Written for the 2019 Round of the SSHG Gift Fest on LiveJournal.
Relationships: Hermione Granger & Mr Granger & Mrs Granger, Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 134
Kudos: 159
Collections: sshg_giftfest





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cabepfir](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Cabepfir).



> A.N.~ This was written for the 2019 round of the SSHG Gift Fest over on LJ for the talented Cabepfir. I will give the prompt at the end as to not spoil the story. As ever, I had a wonderful village around me while writing; FawkseyLady helped with alpha'ing, and Q_Drew was my beta extraordinaire who quite literally hung on to my every typed word as I stumbled to the finish in the indecently wee hours of the morning. Without her support, this would neither be finished nor half as good. This has been slightly expanded and edited, and any remaining errors are mine.
> 
> Some trigger warnings, dear readers. While this story is rated a T, it has mentions of suicidal ideation, along with mild violence and some swear-y language. I gladly welcome all comments and concrit.

**A Good End**

"There's rosemary, that's for remembrance; pray you love, remember;  
and there is pansies, that's for thoughts... There's fennel for you, and  
columbines; there's rue for you, and here's some for me: we may call it  
herb-grace o' Sundays: O, you must wear your rue with a difference.  
There's a daisy. I would give you some violets, but they wither'd all  
when my father died. They say he made a good end"  
\- _Hamlet_ , Act IV, Scene 5

**Prologue**

Icy pellets of sleet lashed the windows of the final terrace house on Spinner's End, serving as ample warning against the folly of venturing out in such cruel weather. The interior of the home was hardly more welcoming, a sepulchral air invading every cramped corner. No crackling fire lit the bare hearth, no kettle rumbled in the kitchen with the promise of hot tea. Indeed, it would almost be easy to mistake the house for an empty one, so still was the black-haired man sitting in the dark of the book-lined lounge.

From a leather-wrapped wingback chair, Severus Tobias Snape waited for confirmation of his downfall. It had come spectacularly swiftly this time; not three days before he had been, however improbably, ensconced in the warm embrace of a happy family. It had not been his family, true, but they were precious to him all the same. And now?

 _Now it is all over, and I will face the consequences of my actions, whatever they may be,_ he told himself dully. _It was a good run. I will be thankful for that much, at least._ In spite of everything, there had been some joy in living through it, and very few regrets.

In the nine years since the fall of the Dark Lord, Severus had painstakingly rebuilt his life into a semblance of boring, middle-aged normality. Leaving the gates and ghosts of Hogwarts behind following his recovery, he had eventually been appointed the Head of Potioneer of St Mungo's. Unlike his previous job, the position did not plague him with boatloads of bureaucratic bumf, granted him a pleasingly sufficient amount of time devoted to self-directed research, and featured a hefty salary along with a hand-selected cadre of minions at his beck and call who were neither evil wankers nor spotty students.

While his transition to civilian life had not been entirely smooth, it had proven easier than expected, especially when Severus discovered that the notion of maintaining a work/life balance wasn't entirely a fantastical crock of shit made up by leisure magazines or twinkly-eyed bosses. Copious amounts of therapy, a carefully reformulated variant of the draught of peace taken once daily, and not having two Machiavellian masters also assisted matters greatly. If he had not precisely moved on, he had at least found a different path. Life had been kind to him, and for a time, Severus was shockingly content. Not surprisingly, it had only taken the addition of a single Muggleborn Gryffindor witch to neatly implode his perpetually cursed life yet again.

As if summoned by his increasing morose thoughts, a car came to a screeching halt at the kerb. The slam of the door was like a gunshot, an opening volley to what he knew would be an incredibly difficult discussion. Snape got to his feet slowly, a muffled protest coming from his knees and back that spoke to the accumulated strife of his misbegotten forty-seven years.

Opening the door before she could knock, he was met with a blast of baltic breeze, liberally scented with feminine rage. The woman standing on his front stoop was well known to him, but for once that familiarity did not lend any comfort. Petite and with wrathful bourbon curls dancing in the damp winter air, she glared up at him silently, lips gone thin with displeasure.

Snape's gut twisted sharply at the sight; there had been a faint, lingering hope that his many lies and half-truths had not utterly destroyed everything, that life could continue as it had been. The woman's expression laid waste to that possibility in an instant. Wordlessly, he opened the door fully and stepped aside so that his guest could enter. She brushed past him roughly, a bright red woollen coat providing a macabre splash of colour amongst the grey and gloom of the afternoon. With a dramatic whirl of fabric and fury, she turned in the centre of the dim lounge to face him.

"How could you?" she hissed gutturally, hands resting militantly on her slim hips.

"There wasn't any other choice," he responded flatly, feeling sleet pelt his back in an added condemnation. Absently, he magicked the door shut, wondering if he should cast a protective shield between himself and the woman. _No_ , he decided. _If she lashes out, it'll be with a fist, not a curse, and it's not as if I don't deserve a smack or two for what I've done._

"Rubbish," the woman snapped, hand slicing through the air like a scythe. "That's a load of fucking rubbish, Snape! It's bad enough that you drugged us multiple times and performed god only knows how many dark spells, but to sit back and stay silent about it for years... you had to see that something wasn't right with him! And rather than come clean when you had a chance, you pretended to be helping us... you sat at our table, ate our food, celebrated sodding holidays with us, and like a coward, said nothing, did nothing!-"

Being accused of cowardice- of doing nothing!- was what finally sparked his own temper. With a snarl, he spat, "I may have lied, but I haven't been sitting back doing nothing. What do you think I've been working on this whole time? Why do you think that I acted in the first place? As soon as I saw how bad things were, I stepped in to fix it! And while I don't like the results any better than you do, my choice was the only one with any hope of a positive outcome."

"You call this a positive outcome?" she questioned, voice scathing. "My husband is lying in a coma, and the doctors have just told us that his brains are slowly turning to mush whilst we watch, and it's all because of what you did!"

Deliberately, Snape leaned forward, invading her space in a threatening manner that generations of Hogwarts students would have recognised. "Ah, so you'd rather be thinking yourself to be the childless Monica Wilkens, stuck in Australia with no family support while your husband fades away into nothing?"

"He wouldn't be losing his mind if you had just left well enough alone!" the woman shouted.

Severus strove to keep his mask of anger in place lest she see the reality of the matter, giving her a different truth to chew on instead. "If I had not had acted as I did, your daughter would not be alive today."

However foul the statement tasted, however gutting, it was the truth and the icy retort landed like a blow. The woman staggered back from Severus. Her eyes fluttered shut as she struggled to hold the threads of her composure together.

"No," she whispered, sounding lost. "No, I don't believe that. We all would have been fine. Still separated, but fine."

"The knowledge of what she had done to you was breaking her." A rough laugh, wholly devoid of humour, fell from his mouth. "If you trust me in only one thing, trust me in this. I know what it's like to be shattered into a thousand pieces by guilt and self-recrimination. There would have been no way of putting her back together again once she fell apart."

"She's strong. She would have-"

"No." His answer was implacable. Gentling his tone, Severus continued, "No. She's strong, but even the finest Damascus steel breaks in half given enough force. You weren't there. You never saw how bad it was when she failed to restore your memories the second time. If you don't believe me, ask Potter or Neville. We were all terrified that she'd... well, that the worst would happen." Letting out a slow sigh, he pushed back the horrifying memories of those fraught days from his mind. "I couldn't lose her like that, Jean. Not after... everything."

Stunned by the series of admissions, Jean Granger sunk down onto a tufted leather chair, eyes wide. "You love Hermione."

He glanced up from his folded hands, a soupçon of self-deprecating sarcasm flavouring the gesture. "Of course I do. Love is the only thing that's ever reliably motivated me." With a flippant shrug, he added, "Well, that and hate."

Jean pursed her lips again, the high colour leaving her cheeks as logic began to take over. "You love her as a friend," she said cautiously, the words caught somewhere between a statement and a question.

"No."

An emotion- not quite pity, but still a hair away from compassion- filled her brown eyes, the shade and shape so like her daughter's that it hurt to see that particular sentiment floating from them. _Ahhh,_ he thought, _so Hermione's mother recognises the impossibilities of a relationship between us as well..._

The futility of it all- the situation in general, nevermind the unrequited feelings generated by his feckless heart- produced another flicker of anger. For a long moment, he contemplated lashing out and driving Jean away with a few carefully crafted barbs. He could do it quite easily, and it would serve to neatly sever his relationship with Hermione to boot.

_Christ, but I am tired of burning bridges. I am so tired of being alone... I just can't do it one more time._

There was another, far more important reason to not lash out; he owed Jean Granger a debt of honour. Not for the reasons that she thought- it had nothing to do with the lies, or what he had done to restore her and her husband to this life- but because of what the entire Granger family had gifted him with over the last several years. There would be no pushing them away, not this time. Not without falling apart to pieces himself.

_And I pay my debts. Always._

"No," he murmured at last. "There is nothing of the philia in what I feel for her."

She leaned back in the chair, gaze going remote as she took it all in. Abruptly, her regard returned to him, an eerily familiar expression crossed her face. Snape knew immediately that she had put together the exact pieces that he'd hoped she'd stay blind too.

"George's grandmother," Jean Granger suggested hesitantly after a long silence, "died of dementia, and an uncle, I think. Both on his father's side. Could it be something... genetic that's wrong, and not what..."

Her voice trailed off, the inherent kindness that she shared with her daughter rising to the occasion. It was a marvel to him that even now Jean was seeking to absolve both he and Hermione from their actions; really, the only consideration he could show in return was uttering the one truth that she was avoiding.

"And not have anything to do with the original memory charms that Hermione placed on you both?" he said. "It's possible. Maybe George's memory issues really are my fault; between the potions, legilimency, and compulsion spells, what I used was far darker than anything that Hermione dared to try. Then again, perhaps it was the effects of all that magic combined with an underlying genetic defect that triggered the disease. Four complex obliviations, even spaced out over a decade, can easily cause permanent damage to a brain."

"But you don't think so."

He shook his head. "No. Hermione was all of seventeen and forced into casting a series of enormously complex magical spells that she shouldn't have even known about, never mind attempted. It's a bloody miracle that you are both alive, frankly."

"Then why am I not a gibbering mess? Why I am not in a coma like George is?" Emotion thickened Jean's voice as she threw up her hands beseechingly.

"I don't know exactly. I have some ideas, but nothing that can be substantiated."

"Like what?" she demanded again.

"You're a squib, Jean," Severus told her. "You may not be able to cast any spells, but on an instinctive level, you can sense magic just as Hermione and I can. More than that, I think that your dormant magic helped form a buffer against any long term spell damage. Unfortunately for all of us, George is very much a Muggle and doesn't have that same protection, hence the differences in your conditions." The admission stung and he was aware that he was only offering a half-truth once more, but there were other secrets that he was still protecting.

Brushing his theory aside like a midge, Jean persisted. "Can the damage be fixed? Can we save him?"

"I don't know."

"Severus..." Tears began to roll down Jean's face, and that raw show of emotion, more than anything, was like a knife to his gut.

Severus knelt at her feet, seeking to impart what comfort he could. "Know that if I could change places with your husband, I would gladly do so in a heartbeat." He reached out and gently touched her shaking fingers. "I'm sorry for what has happened, and for as long as you will allow it, I will continue to seek out a cure."

She gave his hand a slight squeeze in a pacifying gesture to lessen the blow of what she said next, "Hermione is... that is to say..."

"She will object strongly to my presence in any form, and is utterly furious with me?" he put forth dryly. "Yes, I do know that. My continued offer of help is not contingent upon understanding or forgiveness from anyone."

"Would you do it again?"

"Yes."

Ever the mother, Jean asked, "Why didn't you come clean about what you did once we were safely back in England?"

"She was deeply fragile, for one thing... but it's far more than that. After we failed on the second attempt to restore your memories, we returned here in shambles. She was completely despondent. I waited six months to see if she would change her mind about making a third try. She didn't, and by then things had gotten bad enough that her magic was faltering," he explained flatly. "I fixed what I could, but something had clearly gone wrong with George... what do you think it will do to Hermione to know that she permanently damaged her father's mind?"

"You've been protecting her all this time," Jean said, and this time he could clearly hear the pity in her voice.

"Don't!" he exclaimed, dropping her hand and erupting from the floor like bludger from a box. "Don't you dare make me out to be some sort of knight errant. I'm the whole reason that she felt pressured into obliviating you in the first place!"

She eyed him for a long, silent moment. "Explain, please."

"By Hermione's fifth year, there were credible plans being made within the ranks of the Death Eaters to kill the lot of you during the summer holidays. I informed Albus Dumbledore about the threats and assumed that Hermione was close enough to Potter that the old man would put protections in place. I also warned Hermione, albeit obliquely. When you and George disappeared, it was assumed by all that Dumbledore had moved you into a safe house. But the cold-hearted bastard hadn't done a fucking thing! If I had only told Minerva, or pressed Dumbledore on his plans, she never would have been forced to protect you herself. And George wouldn't be slowly losing his mind now."

Snape averted his gaze, not wanting to see the betrayal in Jean Granger's brown eyes.

"Severus, look at me," she commanded. When he didn't immediately comply, Jean rose from the chair and placed cold fingers on his chin, forcing him to meet her gaze. "What would have happened if Hermione had not moved us to Australia when she did?"

"Two weeks later, Death Eaters went to your house in Brixton."

"And they weren't exactly coming around for tea, were they?"

"No."

"And if they had captured us, would you have been able to break cover and keep us from getting killed?"

The faces of the many people he'd not been able to save flowed up from the dark recesses of his memory then, and it was a struggle to take a breath in as he heard the whispers and screams of all those final, desperate words. "No. I would not have done so. In the best-case scenario, I would have only had to watch you die; more realistically, I would have been called upon to slowly torture you all to death, extracting as much information from Hermione about Potter and Order as possible during the process."

Jean bowed her head, hand falling to his chest for a moment before dropping away. "I don't fault your protection of Hermione then, Severus, nor now." Tone firming, she looked up again. "It was George and I who failed her, not you. You are right that she never should have been forced to protect us, but she's always been frighteningly competent, even in nappies. It was so easy enough to forget that she was still a child. We didn't ask the questions we ought, or press when we should have done. Most parents- or at least good ones- would have made a stink when their daughter was almost killed by a troll as a firstie, or had spent weeks being petrified. We didn't... and as a result, had no idea how bad things had gotten. If we had known... if we had pushed Hermione harder when it was clear we weren't hearing the full story... things would have been different."

"Perhaps," Severus said, weariness and loss pressing him down. "Or perhaps not. What's done is done."

Jean appeared just as exhausted as he felt. "Indeed."

Thinking of Hermione, recalling the naked rage and hurt in her expression the last time that they had spoken, Severus made up his mind about the best way to proceed. "Let her continue to think that George's condition is my fault."

"What?" Jerking back with surprise, Jean stared at him. "She'll need you, Severus, and I can't let you take the blame for something that isn't your fault! You said it yourself that there was no way to be sure-"

"No," he interrupted with finality. "She'll need you just as much as you'll need her in the coming weeks. More importantly, George needs the both of you. Better her furious with me and fighting than the unthinkable. Three years ago, I broke all notions of consent and trust to restore your memories. I did it because the alternative offered no chance of a future for anyone. It's a decision that I stand by, no matter the difficulties to come." He attempted to smile, aware that it was little more than a toothy grimace. "At least you won't be alone in this."

Jean was silent a long time before meeting his gaze once more. "Have you told me the entire story, Severus?"

"No."

"Then do so now."


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**   
**19 September 2001**   
**Six years earlier**

Severus Snape was decanting the last of an experimental pancreas strengthening draught when one of his apprentice potioneers entered the lab carrying an emergency order. Hands full with pouring the solution from the heavy caldron into phials for testing, he raised an inquiring brow at the woman.

"What is it, Jones?"

Serena Jones stepped forward, holding the medication request up for his perusal. "Sir, the Janus Thickey Ward just placed a speciality order. It's a red script."

A red script meant that only a senior potioneer could prepare the order, and Snape bit back a sigh at the interruption; this late at night, he was likely the only one around with sufficient enough permissions to make the formula. "And what's it for?" he queried absently, attention still focused on the steaming cauldron in front of him.

Jones glanced down and read the order out loud. "A double dose of calming draught, one-fourth measure of heart's ease, a full measure of a bronchodilator, and a half measure of an anticholinergic."

Snape blinked and glanced up, surprised. Put together, that particular combination was only ever used for palliative care. "Who's dying?"

"It says that it's for the patient in 403. Ummm, one Collette Rosier."

 _Oh, bollocks..._ Jones saw his reflexive flinch to the name and asked a question of her own. "Someone you know, sir?"

Recalling the feisty and highly opinionated former governor of Hogwarts, he nodded. "Alas. She's the grand dame of the Rosier family, or at least what is left of it. She was in charge of the Hogwarts bursary fund for the better part of fifty years."

Memories pushed at Snape, along with a wave of sorrow. He'd been a bursary student from the start and had both dreaded and anticipated Collette Rosier's galleon-filled missives. Without the funding, he would not have been able to attend Hogwarts, but it had stung his youthful pride to be so dependent upon others for something as basic as clothing and school fees. Upon becoming Head of Slytherin, Severus had been staggered to discover just how many students needed partial or full scholarships and began to work with the woman to increase the fund. Over the years he had developed a healthy respect for Madame Rosier's skills in both soliciting money and managing the funds; eventually, they'd grown into friendly acquaintances. Given what he owed the woman, Severus decided to push the rest of his project back for the night and personally deliver the potion down to the Janus Thickey Ward.

Banishing his now-empty caldron to the sinks, Snape motioned towards an open stretch of the counter. "Set up a fresh caldron while I pull the bases for the potion. Just because you can't make this one doesn't mean you can't observe. Did the healer request a liquid or a vapour?"

Pleased at the opportunity to see the creation of a rarely used potion, Jones smiled faintly. "They want it in a liquid."

"Which healer is it?" he asked over his shoulder, already making for the storeroom.

"Granger, sir."

His steps didn't falter, even if his thoughts blanched momentarily. More jagged memories of the past swept forward, equally as bittersweet as the last swell concerning Collete Rosier. _Well_ , he thought ruefully, _clearly, it's going to be one of those nights_.

* * *

The Janus Thickey Ward was only dimly lit, the somnolent murmur of sounds standing in stark contrast to the normal hustle and bustle of the daytime hours. Peering at the rota board hanging above the empty healer's station, Snape saw that Granger had been scheduled to finish her shift some five hours earlier. They'd only ran into each other a handful of times since she'd transition from an apprentice to junior healer, but by all accounts, she was a competent professional. _So, she's either still here, or she wrote the orders before she left in case matters took a turn for the worse. Given her predilection for all things preparation, I bet it was the latter, not the former. I can't think of any other reason she'd stay this late to sit at the bedside of a pureblood witch._

But he was wrong; upon entering the small private room, he found Granger sitting at Madame Rosier's bedside, holding her hand. The older woman was laying on her side, back to the door. Even in that elevated position, she was presenting with the distinctive wet, breathy rattle that heralded imminent death.

"According to the roster, you were off hours ago," Snape commented neutrally, and Granger glanced up swiftly.

"I was." At his raised brow, she added, "No one should die alone."

Granger determinedly held his gaze as she said it, their shared history drifting between them like a particularly thick mid-winter fog. It was impossible for either of them to forget that once upon a time, she, Potter, and Weasley had abandoned him to die alone.

Regret, well-aged but none the weaker for the passing of time, seemed to ripple from her expression in a mute apology. He could say much to the implicit plea in her words, but there seemed little point at this late stage in the game. However terrible the events in the Shack had been, they'd both had clear roles to play on that long-ago day in May, and play them they had. _And I have no right to be resentful- after all, I did survive all that dark night, and more besides..._

"Would you like me to administer the potion?" he asked instead, and she gave her assent.

"Madame Rosier," she announced, "Master Snape is here with a calming draft that will help to clear your throat and ease your breathing. I'm going to roll you onto your back so that he can give it to you."

That garnered no reaction from the bed, but Healer Granger still waited for several polite beats before gently manoeuvring the dying witch into a prone position.

Reaching out, Severus stroked Collette Rosier's cool forehead. Her paper-thin skin was waxen, with blue-grey undertones and her sunken, closed eyes robbed her face of any animation. The ghastly sound of her laboured breathing filled the room, and it was an effort to keep his expression free of emotion.

"Hello, Collette. I regret that it took something like this for us to meet again. If I would have known that you were here, I would have come down to visit you far sooner." With care, he tilted her jaw open and brought the potion up to her thin lips. "This will be cool going down, and should taste only of mint."

Severus administered it slowly, stopping several times to make sure that she wouldn't choke on the viscous liquid. Within a minute, her respirations had deepened from the rapid, shallow breaths of before to something approximating normal sleep. Once confirming that Severus had finished, Granger leant back over to place the older woman on her side, some of the tension flowing from the room as she did so. Picking up Collette's right hand, which had tightened into a gnarled fist, she began to massage the cramping muscles.

"Is there no family?" Severus asked at last, trying to recall the proper genealogy and who he might know that would still be alive after everything.

"There are third cousins in France, but no one from the direct line."

"Ah." Her husband had been killed in the late seventies, he suddenly recalled, along with one of her children. Even so, there should have been other people at this bedside; a grandson had been a Slytherin in his year, he recalled, as well as an older granddaughter in Ravenclaw. However, it seemed none of Collette's immediate family had survived the ravages of the Dark Lord's blood cult.

Throat going unexpectedly tight, Snape turned his attention back to Granger. Her eyes were shiny and bright, and he was surprised at how personal she was taking this death.

"How long has she been here?"

Granger didn't look up. "Three weeks. Her elf brought her in after she fell and fractured her hip. She made some improvements the first week, but then things started to go downhill after that."

"Do you know her?"

"No." Sensing his lingering questions, she added, "I've always tried to live by the maxim of 'do unto others', Master Snape, and this is a prime example of the type of kindness that I hope is granted to me someday."

Under any normal circumstances, he would have rolled his eyes at the blatant moralising, but this was hardly the time or place to start that particular argument. Moreover, he didn't think that Granger was trying to lecture him on proper behaviour, but rather, was being self-critical towards her own past actions.

In the weak light of the room, her face was nearly as pale as Collette's, although the undertones were far better; lines of incipient strain bracketed Granger's mouth, and dark circles lay under her eyes attesting to far too many sleepless nights in a row. Snape was startled to realise that she couldn't be any older than twenty-two, despite appearing a good ten years older. While she'd always been a perfectionist as a child, not to mention utterly terrified of failure, the shadows lurking in her expression made it obvious that the adult Granger was being driven by more than just the pursuit of high standards.

 _Hogwarts failed her_ , Severus thought, regret once again filling his mind as he contemplated everything that had been lost in the wars. _Both she and Collette, really..._

Severus rarely had the luxury of being able to practice the golden rule. The vagaries of his life had decreed that he take a far more pragmatic approach to morals. But since the death of the Dark Lord, he'd been given the freedom to shed a few of his masks. No longer was he stuck in the role of dungeon bat or cruel spy; he could be human if he so desired, possessing emotions beyond rage or cold calculation.

And, inexplicably, this was a night when he wished to be something more. Crossing the foot of the bed, Snape sat down in the chair next to Granger. She sent him a sidelong, startled glance before adjusting the monitoring spells on the bed so he could view them as well. It was a thoughtful gesture, as well as a telling one.

"Collette Rosier is quite the battleaxe," he remarked sardonically, making it a compliment, "and damned proud of it."

"Is she?"

"Very much so."

A slight smile carved through Granger's sorrow with the exchange, and Severus was surprised at the flare of pleasure that the movement invoked. It wasn't often that he was put into the position of providing any sort of emotional succour, and it was an even rarer occurrence when the experience didn't leave him feeling anything other than awkwardly inadequate. But why was he impelled to comfort Granger, of all people? The question gave him pause, and he settled back in his chair without commenting further.

Several minutes passed before he decided that it didn't matter: it was unlikely that Granger would be shocked by seeing his human side, and she was even less likely to blab about it come the morning. Eyeing Granger surreptitiously, he noted that the Healer was projecting her magic over Collette in little wavelets through their linked hands. The sensation was one of soothing warmth and fellowship, entirely free of the devastation that filled her countenance.

Even from a distance, the peacefulness of it drew him in.

Without any warning, Severus was abruptly awash in his own recollections of dying. There had been no warmth in the Shrieking Shack that night, only desperation and an icy, burning fire as Nagini's venom raced through his bloodstream. Despite the unyielding wooden floor underneath him, Severus had felt like he was drowning, unable to do more than gasp futility for oxygen as darkness closed in around him. The certain knowledge that everything that he had fought for- everything he'd sacrificed to keep Lily's son alive- was likely to be for nought had been the final, bitter, millstone around his neck as he'd sunk into darkness.

A convulsive, faltering inhalation from the bed ripped his attention back to the present, and Severus hoped that his stumble down memory lane hadn't been completely obvious. _This isn't about me_ , he reminded himself, pulling on his occlumentic shields just enough that he wasn't entirely lost at sea. _This is about Collette Rosier, and Granger too, I suppose. Everything else can wait._

Swallowing away the metallic taste lingering on his tongue, Snape deliberately called forth other, happier times. Reaching for the pair of intertwined hands on the bed, he placed his longer fingers over Collette's stiff, blue-veined ones, Granger's palm still resting on the other side. Severus shivered as her magic swirled to include him, and then began to impart his own invocations to mix.

Gratitude came first, both for the personal support he'd received from Collette as well as for the tireless work she'd done to care for Hogwarts' poorer students. Next was a sense of deep affection and recognition: Collette Rosier was not dying unknown among strangers. There was an acknowledgement of her many losses over the years, none of them material. Last of all, Severus put forth his wish that these last few steps of her journey would be made peacefully, and that she would find the comfort of her family waiting for her on the other side of the veil.

Granger went entirely still as she registered the flow of his magic mingling with hers, and for a moment, Snape wondered if he had overstepped his bounds. Would she perceive something nefarious in his actions? But before he could pull away, she shifted so that they were both cradling Collette's hand between them, the tips of her fingers brushing against his, drawing him closer. A flare of power arced between them, her magic making clear his welcome with an electric, elemental joy.

The rightness of the connection stole his breath. Slowly he turned to stare at Granger. He was not alone in his reaction. Two bright spots of rose painted the porcelain of her cheeks, and her large brown eyes displayed a welter of emotions more complicated than any Gordian knot.

Quite suddenly Severus found himself flailing far outside of his depth, an unfamiliar yearning pushing everything else aside.

It was Hermione who eventually broke the spell snapping between them. "So I take it you know Madame Rosier personally," she stated, voice husky with a suppressed sentiment.

Clearly his throat, Severus nodded once sharply. "Well enough. She was a Hogwarts governor for decades. We worked together on supplementing the bursary fund after I started teaching. You would have appreciated her zeal for the righteous cause."

"I'm sure that I would have." Pain pushed its way through the fray, and Severus wondered once more at the strength of the demons pursuing her.

The urge to comfort struck him again, and without stopping to think, Severus began to stroke the side of Hermione's hand with his thumb in what he hoped was a soothing movement. Her eyes fluttered shut briefly before she returned her gaze to the bed.

"Collette greatly enjoyed nettling Albus," he went on steadily, pretending that they were not, in essence, holding hands. "On one memorable occasion, she hexed him right before the start-of-year feast so that his voice sounded like he'd been inhaling helium. Minerva had to deliver the opening remarks that night. Everyone was quite amused. Except for him, of course."

She laughed softly. "Poor thing. What did he do to warrant such shocking abuse?"

"I can't help but notice that you don't question that he was the one at fault."

"Yes, well I did interact with the wizard on a semi-regular basis, usually in the hospital wing following one of Harry's harebrained escapades that he'd egged on."

There was a fond sort of exasperation colouring her words. "And yet you never stopped chasing after Potter."

"No, I didn't." Granger tilted her head, giving him a chiding glance. "And I never will. Now tell me, what did the mighty and all-powerful Albus Dumbledore do to deserve Madame Rosier's wrath?"

"Cut her off in the middle of a major budget presentation, and then tried to argue that retrenchment wasn't really necessary, most especially in the case of the Transfiguration department. She informed him that since he clearly didn't have any more sense than a puffed up bag of hot air, he might as well sound like one. After his first squeaky protestations, she had the cheek to offer him a lemon drop."

That earned him a full laugh, and Hermione smiled approvingly down at Collette. "Oh, well done, you! I would have enjoyed seeing that."

"Minerva and Pomona agreed with Collette's assessment whole-heartedly, and as Filus wasn't willing to risk becoming the next target, Albus was forced to find a cure by himself. It took almost two weeks, and in the meantime, he still had to teach advanced transfiguration..."

* * *

Severus spent the next hour discussing what he knew of Collette's tenure on the board with Granger, as well as the wider politics of the school over the decades. It was strangely... nice. She was far less sentimental about school than he would have wagered and could be quite cutting in her reading of a situation, even if it reflected poorly against those of her house or friends.

It was a marked downturn in Collette's respiration that shifted the mood back to sombre, and they sat silently for a time, letting their combined magics do the talking for them.

"I wasn't alone."

Granger jerked, and Severus belatedly realised that the softly spoken words were his.

"In the Shack?" she asked cautiously, eyes pointedly staying on Collette.

He nodded reluctantly, unsure why he was even explaining this to Granger. "Fawkes was lurking in the shadows of the other room, along with my personal house-elf."

"There has been a great deal of conjecture about how you survived." Granger's voice was free of inflexion, but the question was clear nonetheless. Perversely, an ember of anger flared up, no matter that he had been the one to bring the subject up again.

"Yahtzee- the elf- was equipped with an infirmary's worth of healing potions, including the anti-venom that I created after Arthur Weasley was attacked by Nagini. Fawkes' tears also proved to be necessary for my survival."

"You had an elf named 'Yahtzee'?" Granger said, appearing dumbfounded by only one of his revelations.

"Have, and yes." Severus felt his mouth beginning to tighten into a scowl as Granger's expression made clear that she was going to continued to dig for elements of his private history. He deliberately took a calming breath in. "After all, who am I to tell an elf that it's not a proper name?"

A low, ugly, rasp issued from Collette's mouth, and they both froze as they stared at the dying woman. With a shudder, she inhaled again, her breathing returning to a regular pattern. In unison, both he and Granger exhaled with relief.

"How did the elf come up with the name?"

Snape held back a grim smile. _In for a penny, I suppose..._ "Charity rescued him as an elfling. Yahtzee was one of many board games that she enjoyed."

There was another long pause before Granger spoke again. "Charity, as in Professor Burbage?"

Severus didn't bother to hide the annoyance in his voice; how like Granger to continue to press on a topic that clearly was none of her business. Still, he was at a deathbed, and for that reason alone he granted her a civil answer. "The very same. Before everything... happened, things were friendly between us. She took great pleasure in trying to beat me at the daily cryptic crossword. After Charity was murdered, I wasn't in a position to refuse when Yahtzee requested to serve me."

There was another one of those damnable pauses, and Snape braced himself for another barrage of invasive questions. Granger surprised him, however.

"Didn't she also have a cat named Pavlov?"

"Yes," he confirmed acidly, "and the bloody menace had us all conditionally trained, believe me."

Granger let loose a burble of amusement. "Mmm, yes... He and Crookshanks were mortal enemies from the start."

"I never could understand her affection for the creature." Or himself, for that matter, but Snape left that part of the equation unsaid.

"She was a singular woman." Granger's abiding respect rang clear in the statement, and she gave Collette's hand a gentle squeeze, conferring the same honour upon the dying woman.

All of a sudden, Snape felt like he was choking on an overwhelming tidal wave of guilt and crushing sorrow. It took every scrap of his willpower to not jump up and flee the room, Collette Rosier's imminent death or no. _What on earth possessed me to think that staying here tonight was a good idea?_ he berated himself viciously. _What the fuck was I supposed to get out of this? Closure? A new friend?_

He was saved by the interruption of yet another frightful gasp from Collette. Shoving everything other than his awareness of her into the cold storage of his mind, Severus gripped her hand, not sure if he was wishing for her to take another breath or finally cease this farce of living.

Collette's chest laboriously rose again, then gradually collapsed as her breath hissed from her half-opened mouth. Five seconds passed, then ten. There was no further movement from the bed.

The chill light of pre-dawn was beginning to creep in through the window, and for the first time, he noticed how stiff he'd gotten. Reluctantly, Snape glanced up to the monitoring charms floating above the bed. One-by-one, the sigils went grey.

A sharp inhalation drew his regard back to Granger, and he saw that tears were freely running down her face. Thankfully, the urge to comfort the girl did not rise up again, but rather, a dull sort of anger at having to be the recipient of so much unwanted emotional turmoil. It was infinitely easier to bear.

 _Thank the Gods my role in this is nearly completed..._ Disengaging his hand, Snape reached into his pocket and withdrew a shining golden galleon. Rolling the body onto it's back, he placed the coin in the open mouth to serve as Charon's obol. A brief murmur spelled the lips shut forever. Straightening up, he moved to the other side of the bed, raising a challenging brow at Granger. Pointedly, he let his gaze drift to the box of tissues by the bedside and back up to Granger's wet cheeks. He let his expression mirror his thoughts; her mawkish display was inconsistent with her role as Healer.

For a second time that evening, colour filled Granger's face, first a wave of shame, followed swiftly by anger. With a nearly inaudible growl, she turned away from him, snatching a tissue from the box. Snape waited impatiently while she recomposed herself. When she finally turned back they methodically and silently began to wrap the dead woman in the bedsheets.

"Martha," she called hoarsely, and one of the hospital elves popped into the room. Tying the final knot of the shroud, she looked up at the creature. "The time of death was five thirty-two. Please take Madame Rosier down to the morgue."

"Yes, Healer Granger." In a flash, the bed between them was bare and empty.

Snape registered Granger's faded pallor and spent countenance with irritation; how often did she martyr herself like this? What good did it do? "When are you due back on duty? I can't imagine that you'll be any good for your other patients given your current state."

She bristled at his question, a mulish cast appearing on her face. "Not that it's any of your business, but as it happens, I've taken the next three days off." Still glaring at him, she cleared the patient information from the board above the bed with a brusque wave of her hand. "Today is my birthday."

Without waiting for a response, Healer Granger strode from the room, green robes billowing behind her in a visible miasma of anger.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N.~ Not an easy chapter to read, I know, and given all the unrelenting bad news as of late, I questioned if I wanted to post it without major revisions. In the end, I couldn't figure out how to do it without basically re-writing the entire story so my editing has been minimal. This isn't going to be a warm and fuzzy tale (at least at the start!), so please keep that in mind when reading.
> 
> That all being said, the first chapter received a wonderful response, so thank you, lovely readers! And double cheers to all those who left comments. They mean even more in times like this!
> 
> Please stay safe out there, listen to the advice of your local public health people, and most of all, take of yourself. As always, happy reading!


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**November 2001**

**St Mungo's, London**

Snape monitored his emotional state very closely over the next several weeks in case he needed to up his dose of the draught of peace, but mercifully, whatever peculiar quirk that had motivated his behaviour on that evening did not make a reappearance. He remained calm and detached in all his reactions; life returned to blessed banality.

Even running into Granger- quite literally, as she knocked into him as she rushed on to a crowded lift- produced nothing more than a vague irritation. If the recollection of her brown eyes swimming with sentiment popped into Snape's mind during the odd quiet moment here or there, he told himself that too should be expected. After all, the woman had badly ruffled the calm waters of his composure on the night that Collette Rosier died; it would take time to return to total placidity.

However, when a request for a private laboratory space crossed his desk bearing her name, it did give him pause. St. Mungos' had two dozen small laboratory carrels that could be reserved by hospital staff for personal research purposes, and while it wasn't abnormal for a healer to request one, it was the first time Granger had done so. The request was straight forward, stating that she wished to modify several common healing potions for Muggle use. Snape didn't have any reason to deny it, and so in the end, granted the request for a period of one month.

Other than seeing the runic symbol on the door that indicated active brewing was taking place, Snape didn't see so much as a single bushy curl of Granger over the following four weeks. He was, however, perturbed by the frequency that the lab happened to be in use; it seemed as if she was always there when not on duty. Did the idiotic woman never sleep? It was little wonder that she appeared so haggard!

At the end of the month when a second request for arrived, his annoyance flared into anger. This was his research area, and while Granger had been a dutiful potions student, she had never been a terribly gifted brewer, nor particularly interested in the subject. _What in Merlin's name is she doing in there? She's a healer, not a potioneer! Must she invade my space once again?_ Glaring at the slip of paper requesting an extension, he summoned his elf.

"How can Yahtzee be of service to the Potion Master?" the creature squeaked.

"Is Healer Granger still in the private laboratory?"

The elf cocked its head as if listening to a far off sound before answering. "Yes, sir. The Bringer of Hats is currently brewing."

Without meaning to, Snape let out a snort of amusement at the appellation; it appeared that Granger had not been able to escape the longitudinal memory of her youthful follies any more than he had.

"Tell the Bringer of Hats that I will be there in fifteen minutes to discuss her request for the carrel."

"Yes, sir. Shall Yahtzee also bring tea and luncheon as well?"

"Pardon me?" he exclaimed, turning back to the elf and wondering what had prompted that strange idea.

The elf looked at him pointedly. "You has not eaten breakfast or lunch, and neither has the Missy. You both is getting angry when you is not eating. Yahtzee has been reliably informed that the proper medical term for that condition is hangry."

Closing his eyes for a mental count to ten, Severus had to remind himself that continually threatening to use one's house-elf for potions ingredients was considered highly rude behaviour by most people. "You may bring me lunch and leave it on my desk under a stasis spell. I will eat when I return."

Yahtzee raised a mocking brow in an uncanny replica of his own expression. "And what about the Bringer of Hats?"

"She is an adult, and despite her current lack of self-care, is fully capable of fending for herself."

The elf did not appreciate that answer, as evidenced in the particularly loud crack that echoed through Snape's office as it departed in a huff.

"Insufferable creature," he muttered and tossed the request back into his inbox with a glower.

* * *

Precisely fourteen and a half minutes later, Snape stood impatiently at the door of the private laboratory that he had lent Granger, a _tempus_ charm hovering brightly in the air in front of him. Casting a cleansing spell over himself to limit outside contaminants from entering with him, Snape knocked and swept into the lab the instant the charm ticked over to half-past.

Granger was stirring a flat-bottomed caldron, lips moving faintly as she counted the last of her stirs. The antiseptic smell and bright orange colour proclaimed it to be burn paste. Noting that she was smart enough to keep her _mise en place_ and brewing station tidy, he glanced around the cramped room to see what exactly the irritating healer was experimenting with.

She had a good twenty books stacked on a shelf with different coloured tabs sticking out at different intervals, a complex series of arithmancy equations lining the chalkboard on the far wall, and highly annotated brewing calendar posted by the door that infuriatingly extended into the next three months; her research did indeed appear confined to the most basic healing potions and salves.

With a flick, she extinguished the flame and placed the cauldron on a metal trivet to cool. Turning fluidly, she looked up at him. "Master Snape. What can I do for you?"

"You are neither a potioneer, Healer Granger, nor has potions ever been a speciality of yours. I am curious as to why you are requesting one of my laboratories for the second month in a row to do research in a subject area outside of your purview."

She answered calmly enough. "As you are aware, sir, most healing potions are ineffective on Muggles unless they are specifically brewed for them using a combination of arithmancy and personally attuned charmwork. I am trying to understand the entirety of the adaptation process with the hopes of being able to create a streamlined protocol that only requires individual tailoring at the end of a potion formulation rather than continual adjustments as we do now."

Snape crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at her. "You do understand that what you are proposing has been attempted by scores of potions masters over the last thousand years with little to no success. In times of great need, there have been countless witches and wizards who have attempted to cure Muggle diseases with wizarding potions. If the dire impetus of the black plague, Spanish influenza, or cancer hasn't produced any breakthroughs, you are quite unlikely to do so."

Annoyingly, her smile remained pleasant. "Yes sir, I have gathered that the odds are rather against me."

"And so I repeat: despite not having an affinity for potions, you are persisting with this line of foolishness nevertheless."

"It's hardly foolishness when it could assist us in treating Muggle patients. Even creating a few better adaptations of basic healing potions could make a difference-"

Snape flicked his gaze over to the burn paste contemptuously, biting back a sigh. "Granger, Muggles have developed their own remedies to the most common ailments, and ruddy effective ones at that. Your notion is a waste of time. Muggles don't have a magical signature. Anything beyond the most basic of healing potions will have nothing to react to in the first place because they lack magic. It doesn't matter how much you fiddle with the bases of potions when the key catalyst in the entire bloody reaction is missing."

Granger's jaw firmed and she took a step closer to him to argue her point. "That is the commonly accepted wisdom, yes. But there are potions that have been developed to work well on Muggles- love philtres being the best example. And there is a small subset of the Muggle population that responds to potions with little or no adjustment-"

"Compulsion and lust potions work on Muggles because they rely more on mind magics and charms than anything else, and as to that small subset that you refer to, most demographers agree that it's due to the presence of undetected squibs in the general non-magical population-"

A sharp crack ripped through the small lab, and both he and Granger had their wands out pointing at the elf who had just materialised into the room.

"Explain yourself," Snape snapped, adrenaline making his tone come out harsher than intended.

The elf smirked, uncowed, thumping a large tray piled with food onto the desk. "You is Head of Potions here. All desks on this floor belong to you, not just a special one." Without waiting for a response, he disapparated away with a second loud flourish.

"Dare I ask?" Granger drawled, a smile softening the stubborn cast of her expression.

"Yahtzee is an interfering, know-it-all, pain in the arse, much like his previous master," Snape growled, the scent of hot food suddenly making him ravenous.

Granger licked her lips, the steaming pile of pastries having the same effect on her. "And that resulted in food being delivered to my lab at half-past three because..?"

"This is not your lab, it's mine, and you are using it with my permission only. As for the timing of this lunch," Snape explained with a sigh, "apparently neither one of us has eaten today, and being the perverse creature that he is, Yahtzee decided to remedy that lack."

"Ah, yes. House-Elves attempting to shove food on people is an unusual situation indeed."

He shot Granger a hard look. "Cut the sarcasm, Healer Granger. You've not the gravitas to pull it off."

"Don't I? I guess that's another area of disagreement between us, Master Snape." She smiled and leaned against the tall laboratory table with a casual insolence that threatened to send his temper sky-high.

It was her distinct lack of juvenile fear that finally punctured the bubble of his irritation enough to let the humour of the situation leak in. Blessed be, Granger wasn't his student anymore, nor a subordinate. They weren't at Hogwarts, and she wasn't his problem. It hardly mattered if she spent every waking moment chasing the impossible, just as it was idiotic to be resentful of Yahtzee for bringing both he and Granger a badly needed lunch.

"Sit and eat something," he ordered, snagging a chair himself along with a lamb and leek pasty. Pointing to the equations on the wall, he asked, "Who is the Muggle that you are developing this particular set of potions for?"

For the first time since he'd entered the room, she looked uneasy. "Dudley Dursley."

Snape nearly spat out his first bite. "As in Petunia's son?!"

"Yes, sir. He already knows about the existence of magic, so I'm not breaking the Statute of Secrecy by brewing things for him."

"But why on earth would you do something for that oaf of a boy? Why not create something for people you actually care about, like your family?" he inquired, a sudden kernel of suspicion popping into his thoughts. "And please tell me Dursley is aware that he is the target of a potions' experiment."

"Of course he is! It would be entirely unethical to not gain explicit consent and explain the risks before administering anything to anyone." Granger wiped her mouth with a serviette and took another small bite. "And I chose Dudley because he has need of some of the simpler potions like burn paste. He's just started an apprenticeship in welding, and well, is rather on the clumsy side. Really, he's not a bad sort, especially now that he's gotten away from his parents and had a chance to grow up a bit. He and Harry are even friends now."

"How... charming," Snape drawled. He didn't need the awareness brought on by twenty years a spy and nearly as long as a teacher to know that Granger was hiding something from him. She was telling him the literal truth, certainly… but the entire story? Not even close.

"It's better than the alternative," she said stoutly, and he had to once again refrain from rolling his eyes at her blatant Gryffindor moralising.

Wisely, Granger waited until they had both inhaled a pasty and were working on seconds before attempting to argue her point again. "Sir, I know what I'm doing is akin to trying to recreate the Philosopher's Stone. Trust me," she urged earnestly, "I'm under no illusions about the probability of success. But I can't just take the literature and conventional wisdom at face value without doing some experimentation myself."

Her words struck at a hitherto unknown nerve, anger flaring anew. He almost could have enjoyed having the girl in his classroom if only she understood the wisdom of that point as a student; instead, he'd been stuck with an insufferable know-it-all who couldn't resist showing off her facility of memorisation at the cost of every other student in the room. "Given that you used to regurgitate books with the same frequency that owls do boney remains," Snape said acidly, "I'm pleased to hear that you no longer think that the written word is the sole arbiter of knowledge."

Her expression cooled into a neutral mask, recognising the insult when she heard it. "Necessity does a fine job of striping illusions away."

Severus looked away briefly, aware he was being somewhat unfair. "As I well know... Granger, while I can't claim to know you on a personal level, I am at least familiar enough with your character to know that you are not one for quixotic quests: there has always been a firm reason behind all your actions. Not for a minute do I believe that you have suddenly been bitten by the bug of pure research. This project of yours is sheer folly unless you have a firm cause. So I ask again, what is your aim? Who is it that you are trying to save?"

It was a mark of how much Granger had changed from her youth that her expression did not waver one bit. He could read nothing in it, and a certain flatness in her gaze indicated that she was occluding strongly enough that there would be no help from that quarter should he decide to be rude enough to try and use Legilimency.

"As I said, I am seeking to better understand the process of adapting healing potions for Muggle use."

"Nothing more and nothing less?" Snape stated, patent disbelief colouring his tone.

"You have pointed out the extreme foolishness of wishing for any other outcome," she said, calmly deflecting his question. It was a response almost worthy of a Slytherin, and he conceded that Granger was not going to give him the answers he sought no matter how he pressed.

For an instant, Severus contemplated an altogether blunter approach. He could dangle the carrot of his assistance in return for the truth behind her actions; there was a decent enough chance he'd get dragged into the thick of it anyway. But as he eyed Granger, a flicker of the emotions that he'd felt on the night that Collette Rosier died rose again to choke him. Heart rate ratcheting up, Snape rose from his seat and walked towards the rubbish bin, wanting to gain some space away from the healer.

 _No,_ he thought coolly, contemplating his next steps with care. _If she won't trust me with something as simple as this after everything, then I'm hardly going to bend over backwards to pry the truth out of her with an offer of personal help. While I won't block her work, I will make her see the error of her ways. She doesn't belong here, and the sooner she forgets this nonsense and returns to her actual job, the better._

"On your head be it, then," Snape said at last, turning again to face Granger. "I have one condition for the renewal of this space."

"And that would be?" There was nothing- no relief, no curiosity, in her manner.

"Every Tuesday I hold a working luncheon with the department to go over personal projects. My researchers present their work, both the successes and remaining barriers, receiving feedback and suggestions in return. As you obviously have much to learn, you will attend."

"You are inviting me to take part in the potions working group in return for having the right to a private laboratory?" Her delicately arched brow went up, clearly trying to discover the trap he'd laid for her.

Snape smiled, aware that it was neither a pleasant nor a comforting expression. "No. I am requiring you to attend, and if you miss a meeting, you forfeit your space in the laboratory immediately. I don't care if you are on-duty or not, it will be your responsibility to get the time off and sort your schedule without any assistance from me. Do I make myself understood?"

Granger bowed her head. "Yes, sir."

"Noon, at the main conference room. Be there." Without waiting for her response, Snape swept from the room.

* * *

At five minutes to noon four days later, Healer Granger slipped into the main conference room of the Research section and took a chair at the far end of the long oval table. Most of his potions staff were already there, lunches spread out and congenial chatter filling the air. Snape watched her from the corner of his eye, noting that she received a few friendly nods in addition to several more guardedly hostile looks.

While the group was mostly composed of potioneers, there was also a contingent of healers attending- and all held advanced masteries in their specialities. In contrast, she was easily the most junior and youngest person in the room, a fact that had not gone unnoticed by anyone. Marcus Levant, one of the more obstreperous and rank-conscious healers, opened his mouth to question Granger's presence, but Snape cut him off with a single, quelling glance.

"Matthews, are you ready to present?" he asked, the noise dying down in an instant. "Merlin knows we need all the time possible just to get through your data, nevermind any questions."

Keiko Matthews continued rifling through her notes without looking up. "Just about, boss. Give me one more mo before we launch in, yeah?"

Snape inwardly winced at the grating colloquial Americanisms but said nothing; Matthews was an utterly brilliant researcher that he'd gleefully stolen from the Hospital Yerba Buena in San Francisco and well worth any auditory assaults that she might unknowingly inflict.

Glancing back down the table, he noted that Granger had unpacked her lunch- a bland affair that was made up of cottage cheese, an apple, and what appeared to be a granola bar- from her bag, along with a notebook and biro. Her attentive pose, so reminiscent of her student days, served to further set Snape's teeth on edge, and it took an effort of will not to sneer at the implicit eagerness buzzing through her slender frame.

"Alrighty... let's do this!" Matthews announced suddenly, straightening up and giving the room her customarily cheerful smile. "As you know, I've been working on a way to decellularise transfigured myocardial mimetic scaffolds, but have been hindered not just by diffusion limitations within the tissue, but the lack of a proper vascular-like network as a whole in the grafting medium. As a result, I've decided to investigate if a different composition of mundic class potions would allow for thicker regenerative samples..."

* * *

He had to give Granger credit: she hung on for far longer than he'd expected. But as Snape had planned, the majority of the material and the following round of questions were so over her head that, defeated, she stopped taking notes about twenty minutes in. Snape reigned in a smirk. Potions as a field of research was so far above what was taught at Hogwarts that it might as well have been a different subject entirely; even with the substantial knowledge and education gained as a healer, Granger was still far below the level of even his most junior apprentice.

At the end of the session, he deliberately caught her eye and saw a flash of understanding, followed by a wave of stubborn anger as she registered his unspoken challenge.

"Will we be seeing you again next week, Healer Granger?"

She held his gaze for a full count of five before replying. "Yes, Master Snape. You will."

* * *

As the weeks and then months went by, Granger didn't break. But neither did she come to him or any of the other researchers for help, and Severus was no closer to understanding her true aims than he was at the start. He supposed that he could have broken into her lab or otherwise used his rusting skills at spycraft to suss it out, but frankly, that would have taken too much effort. Snape was determined to ignore the healer; experience had taught him that no good came from involving himself in the problems of Gryffindors.

For her part, Granger made it easy to ignore her presence. Other than checking out a truly staggering number of books from the St Mungos' library, she was an invisible spectre in his halls. During the weekly luncheons, she stayed silent, never volunteering opinions or asking questions. Indeed, it was a good six months before she said anything at all, and that was only at his goading.

Marcus Levant had reached the 'any other questions' stage of his presentation on the effects of heat differentials on polymer-based potions when Snape saw Granger pick up her pen and begin scribbling, regard wholly focused on the arithmancy equation scrawled on the board. Several minutes later she stiffened and cautiously put her pen down; from her countenance, he deduced that she had found an error. He waited to see if she would say anything, and when over a minute ticked by and she remained quiet, Snape decided to push the issue.

"Healer Granger appears to have a contribution to make," he said when silence had finally fallen. She still didn't immediately speak up, and he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest as he stared down at her. "Go on."

Granger cleared her throat, not at all pleased that he had prompted her. "In the second equation, the Langmuir adsorption kinetic constant is calculated incorrectly- it appears that Master Levant substituted the value for the Freundlich isotherm instead. The last two digits of the Boltzmann constant are also transposed in the fifth equation."

"Fix it," Snape ordered. With a wave of her wand, she changed the equations, and they all observed the tumble of numbers as it self-corrected the calculations. Levant was attempting to hide his fury at being corrected, but the rest of the researchers wore expressions of either surprise or respect. "Now," he continued, "in light of those changes, let's look again at some of the conclusions, shall we?"

* * *

"...while I think that it's a fair criticism, Alix, combining the results of the _potio sanguine deprehendatur_ along with a more accurate understanding of reverse transcriptase activity allows for a better assay of a patient's plasma virion load. In practice, this also leads to a better measurement of the drug's bioavailability ratio, thus creating a more targeted concentration efficiency when determining the volume and dosing."

Warm applause met the end of Anishka Kapoor's presentation, and Severus allowed himself a rare smile. "I think that I can speak for all of us when I say, very well done, Anishka. While there is undoubtedly much work ahead, you've introduced something that will have a massive positive impact on patient outcomes."

"Hear, hear," Sabrina Jones added from her corner, and there was an appreciative rumble of approval from the rest of the group.

Snape let his smile change to smirk. "As Journeywoman Kapoor will be a very hard act to follow, I will claim next week's spot to save anyone else the possibility of suffering from rank embarrassment. Unsurprisingly, I will be discussing several possible treatment protocols relating to the chemical alterations of tau and the dissolution of neurofibrillary tangles caused by the Cruciatus Curse. Please come with your knives and pitchforks sharpened. Should you wish to brush up on either your knowledge of brain function and chemistry or dark arts spell damage, see Yahtzee. I've given him several detailed study guides for you all to consult. Dismissed."

Good-natured if theatrical groans met his pronouncement, and his smirk only deepened; everyone knew that the study guides were less of suggestion then a friendly order. Rising from his chair, Snape strode towards the door, mind turning towards the quarterly budget accountings that were coming due. Just as he entered the hallway, a strong hand snagged his wrist roughly and spun him into the wall. Startled, Severus stared down at an utterly furious Hermione Granger.

"How long have you been working on memory potions?" she demanded. "Why the hell didn't you say something earlier?"

"Healer Granger," he intoned icily, shocked at her actions, "remove your hand from my person before I forcibly remove it for you."

Even with the clear threat in his voice, it took Granger several long seconds to master her temper enough to comply; aware that they had an interested audience peering out from the conference room, he pointed to the door at the other end of the hallway. "My office. Now!"

He marched her at speed down the corridor to his office and then firmly warded the door behind them. "What is the meaning of this behaviour?"

"My behaviour?" she exclaimed, hands going to her hips and hair vibrating with barely suppressed fury. "What about your behaviour, Master Snape?"

"If you had taken the time to speak to anyone in this department- hell, with Neville Longbottom- you would have known exactly what the bulk of my research centres around! It's hardly a state secret, Granger. Or, I don't know, you could have answered my questions truthfully when I asked you about your research months ago as it now seems that we share a similar subject matter. Either of those choices would have served to get you knowledge that you now so rudely demand."

"Oh, of course, this is all my fault, isn't it?" she spat, sarcasm dripping from her words like venom.

Heart pounding with rage, Snape gladly matched her tone; he'd been looking forward to this confrontation for months. "As I have no bloody fucking clue as to what you are referring to, I would say yes, whatever is wrong is your fault. Perhaps next time you will shelve your petty little prejudices aside and trust me when I ask you a simple question."

Granger laughed, a bitter, biting bark that contained so much hostility that Snape fleetingly contemplated throwing up a protective shield. "You think the reason that I didn't confide in you is that I'm hung up over the fact that a million years ago you were a Death Eater? That I still hold a grudge because you killed Dumbledore? Please. I have far more... pressing reasons to hate you."

The barb struck true, and Severus was surprised that the utterance of such a heated sentiment from Hermione Granger would have the power to wound him. "Go on, then," he snarled. "Since you so clearly need to vent your spleen, do tell what renders me so despicable in your sainted eyes."

Abruptly, all of the anger disappeared from Granger's expression, sucked away into nothingness as if a black hole of emotions lay at her heart. She was utterly still for nearly thirty seconds, and Snape felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise in response to the wordless threat. When she finally spoke, it was in tones so measured and calm that it was far more disturbing than any show of vengeful wrath.

"You are the worst sort of bully, and always have been. While I understand that your role as a double agent prescribed many of your actions, you still took the mantle with a willing glee that made it clear that it was no affect, no show on your part. From my very first lesson at Hogwarts, you belittled and mocked me relentlessly. And it wasn't just my work or intelligence that you commented on; you made fun of my teeth, my character... and I was far from the only student to receive your marked attentions. All that I could have put away following the end of the war, but your actions the night Collete Rosier died demonstrated that very little had changed. At the deathbed of a supposed friend, you still felt the need to slide in a critical jab. Tell me," she demanded flatly, "were there any other reasons for your invitation to the lunch sessions other than to humiliate me?"

For the barest instant, he saw the pain his actions had caused in Hermione's eyes, and her words hit him like a hippogriff. _What the fuck have I been doing?_ he questioned numbly. She spoke of nothing but the unvarnished truth, and there was very little he could say to counter it. "You were not humiliated by attending."

"No," Granger agreed. "I wasn't humiliated. But that is because after everything that I've lived through, I know my worth."

"Yes. You... would."

At that response, Granger turned, and with a non-verbal burst of magic, cancelled the charms on the door. Looking over her shoulder she added, "If we ever found ourselves fighting for our very existence again, or if my life was otherwise in danger, I would trust you. I cannot and do not forget the number of times that you either directly or indirectly saved my life. But as for the rest... no. I did not answer your questions truthfully because I was concerned that you would block my aims simply because you could... because you've always taken pleasure in shooting me down and putting me in my place." She paused. "Will you be revoking my permission to use the private laboratory now, Master Snape?"

"No," Snape said, wanting nothing more than to pluck the hidden bottle of calming draught from his desk and down the lot of it until the sickening slosh of sentiment within him was silent. "I will not."

"Thank you."

His conscience- as belated as it was- left him with only one course of action. "Healer Granger, it appears that I might be in a position to provide you with assistance. Will you please tell me the true aim of your research?"

Hand gripping the doorknob hard enough that the skin turned bone white, she lingered at the door. The wait for her reply seemed endless.

"In July of 1997, I obliviated my parents, provided them with a new set of Muggle identities, and arranged for them to immigrate to Australia. Six months after the end of the war, myself, Harry, Kingsley, and the Department of Mysteries' best obliviator went to Melbourne to retrieve them. It went horribly wrong. In the end, we were forced to re-obliviate them. After reconsideration of our first approach, I decided to see if I could modify several mind healing potions to work on my parents in anticipation of giving it a second attempt. To do so, I needed to understand the entire process of adapting potions for Muggle use."

Stunned, Snape crossed behind his desk and sunk down into his chair as the entirety of the equation finally came clear. "Are you telling me that Albus Dumbledore put no plans for protection into place for your parents?"

Granger turned around and leaned against the door. "No. He did not. And after Susan Bones' family was killed... after you warned me about the dangers my parents faced, I went to the Headmaster and pleaded for help. I received nothing more than a metaphorical pat on the head and the offer of a lemon drop. I then went to Professor McGonagall as well as wrote to Tonks thinking that they would assist me. Both said that I had nothing to worry about and that I should trust Professor Dumbledore." She smiled, a grim, bitter expression. "That wasn't an option."

"Obviously."

"Molly Weasley ended up being the most helpful: she gave me a book on pureblood estate wardings and protections that I was able to cast over our house. However, once I put them into place, I became aware that we were under surveillance, and it wasn't by anyone in the Order. On the 27th of June, 1997, I went back to the Headmaster to report my findings, and he dismissed them yet again."

"And three days later, I killed him," Snape said hoarsely, guilt hammering at him relentlessly. _Christ, what have I done? What did I do?_

"Precisely. The clock had run out. I knew that I could not both protect my parents and support Harry. It was not an easy choice, but I felt like my parents had the best shot of staying alive… of being happy, if I were out of their lives. But that meant living without the memory or knowledge of me."

"I warned Albus at the same time that I told you your parents' lives were in danger... I assumed once they disappeared that it was the doing of the Order and not… you."

"Alas, it was me."

Letting his eyes shut briefly, Snape tried to push past his emotions and come up with something other than his dumbfounded, horrified silence. _More sins to lay at my door..._ "For what little it is worth, I am sorry, Granger. For all of it."

She nodded her head once in acknowledgement but said nothing further.

 _How on earth am I going to fix this?_ Snape wondered desperately. It had been long enough since their obliviations that restoring the Grangers to their memories was likely to be a Sisyphean endeavour, even if Granger was willing to trust him to be part of the process.

"Where are you at in your healing residences?" he asked, mind spinning for something, anything, to make the situation more bearable.

"Three more nine-month rotations, and then I will have to decide to either be a generalist healer or do further studies in a dedicated speciality."

 _Fuck. If she were finished with her residences, this would be a hell of a lot neater. If she takes a leave now, it could cost her any shot of getting one of the more coveted spots in the remaining rotations. Still, it's up to her, not me._ "If I could negotiate a spot within the potions department to work with me on memory potions, would you accept it?"

"Yes." There was no hesitation in her answer, and for the first time, a spark of something not furious appeared in her large brown eyes.

He met her gaze for the first time in several minutes. "Even if that meant significantly delaying the completion of your healing studies?"

"None of that matters."

He swallowed thickly, aware that he was going to have to call in numerous favours to even have a chance in making this work, and that didn't even take into account the tiny flicker of hope that their work combined could produce something able to help her parents.

"Very well. Please send me copies of any of your research and findings so I can see if there are any obvious linkages. I will send you the same."

"Yes, sir."

"It will likely take me several days to a week to get the assignment approved."

"Is there anything that you want me to do?"

"Not at the moment. I will send you a note if that changes."

"Thank you," she said tiredly and opened the door.

"I am sorry," he repeated again, fully cognisant of how useless his apology was.

Hermione turned back a final time to glance at him. "So am I."

With that, she walked out of his office, shutting the door softly behind her. Barely waiting for the click and his wards to re-engage, Severus opened the right-hand drawer of his desk and removed the bottle of calming draught. Uncorking the phial, he downed it all in one swallow, the comforting feeling of detachment lapping over him in wide, blurring waves.

_It doesn't matter. None of this really matters._

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N.~ So, there you have it. Thoughts?
> 
> My apologies for not posting last weekend. While this story is fully written and complete, life due to Corona has been insane. I've been working flat out for weeks now, and I had to choose between sleep or fanfic. I will endeavour to keep to a regular posting schedule, but if there is a gap again, know that it's not for lack of material, just time.
> 
> As always, my most sincere thanks to those who followed, kudo'd, or commented; your support is all the sweeter in times like this. A special cheer to all who left comments- reading your experiences and points of veiw really touched me. Merci beaucoup, mes amis!
> 
> Please stay safe, stay well, and if at all possible, stay inside over the next couple of weeks. Happy Reading.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**November 2002**

**St. Mungo's, London**

Snape made it through the next six months with the brutal expediency of doubling his dose of the draught of peace. In the odd reflective moment, he recognised that his counsellor would have ripped him a new one had he discovered Snape's latest method of coping with unwanted emotions. As he'd stopped seeing the man a year earlier, however, it was a moot point.

Granger as a laboratory assistant was all that he could have wished for: utterly professional, frighteningly dedicated, and painfully easy to work with. While she did not baulk at the course he set for their research, nor any of the tasks that he gave her, she did prove to be a feisty debate partner. Her insightful questions pushed his understanding and curiosity to new levels, and he found himself both electrified and exhausted at the end of the day. She had evolved from the near-eidetic memory of her youth into true brilliance with a willingness to experiment and push boundaries that was breathtaking to observe. Indeed, she was a perfect foil to his own intellect, and as a team, they advanced theory in leaps and bounds.

They did not discuss their argument again. When Snape requested to view her memories of the elder Grangers' obliviation and the later attempted restoration, she provided him with the recollections unhesitatingly. It was humbling to see just how completely she stripped her most private self bare for his inspection and threw herself at the problem as well as the wider work. In their partnership, he was treated to a taste of the dogged loyalty that had propelled Potter's defeat of the Dark Lord, and Snape couldn't help but wish that their working relationship could be transformed into an actual friendship.

That desire, however, was clearly pure folly. If life had taught Snape one thing, it was to know when there had been too much water under the bridge to recover a relationship. For her part, Granger treated him with respectful, if slightly distant, regard. He had no real idea if the ferocious sentiment that she had expressed during their argument was indicative of how she really felt about him or was simply a product of strong emotions at that time. Certainly, she didn't try to broaden the bounds of their interactions beyond work, and he forced himself to be content with what he did have, which was a superior lab partner and clear, achievable goals.

As for their outcomes... well, they were as close to perfect as could be dreamt of within the uncertain realm of healing. They had further developed his potion that delivered a targeted monoclonal antibody that helped to clear problematic brain amyloids, and were awaiting approval from St Mungos' Internal Review Board before starting on the first round of human trials. He had hopes that combining it with the tau dissolution serum could prove to be the breakthrough needed to restore Neville's parents - as well as several others who had been cursed - to full cognisance.

Indeed, it was the course of treatment for the Longbottoms that Snape was discussing with Healer Brizendine, the lead consulting mind healer, when the Head of St Mungo's entered their main laboratory in a wave of juniper scented robes.

Emma MacIntosh was a spritely Scottish witch who had been head of the Spell Damage Ward for almost forty years before ascending to the top spot at the hospital. Pragmatic and unflappable, Severus had found her to be a supportive if hands-off boss. But her expression upon walking in that morning was tense, and her body language clearly proclaimed that something had gone terribly wrong.

"I do apologise for interrupting you," she said, the soft burr of her Highlands accent bringing a warm familiarity to the stark space.

"You are always welcome to do so," Severus returned promptly, putting down his notebook to give her his full attention. "We were just calculating the lunar adjustments for the dosages of the clarity solution needed for the Hughes and Longbottoms, assuming we can proceed on the thirteenth. Has there been a delay from the IRB?"

"No, nothing of that sort. Unfortunately, I come as the bearer of bad tidings. Sit, both of you," she requested, and Snape did so with growing unease. From the corner where she was decanting a fresh bottle of armadillo bile, Granger paused and warily glanced up.

MacIntosh leaned against the tall basalt table before speaking. "About an hour ago, the monitoring charms on Alice Longbottom began to report anomalies with her blood pressure and respiration. When the Healer on duty went to investigate, it was discovered that she was suffering from a severe subarachnoid haemorrhage. Unfortunately, the bleeding on her brain was not only considerable but located close enough to the brain stem to put pressure on it and further impact her autonomic system. I'm sorry to say that we weren't able to save her."

A roaring filled Severus' ears. Dimly, he was grateful to be seated. _No. No! This was the one thing I was supposed to be able to fix… I couldn't save anyone else, but I was supposed to be able to save them!_

The vicious attack on Frank and Alice had been a particularly harsh blow, coming so closely after Lily's murder and the supposed death of the Dark Lord. They should have been safe. Indeed, Alice had been a friend of sorts, serving as Head Girl during Snape's fourth year. True to the mores of her house, Alice had been kind and inclusive to everyone, not just her fellow Hufflepuffs. Later, as a member of the Order of the Phoenix, she had defended Severus from the unhinged rants of Mad-Eye Moody.

To watch them exist but not truly live for more than twenty years in the Janus Thickey Ward had produced a bottomless reservoir of guilt: had Severus not been so lost in a sea of grief following Lily's murder, perhaps he could have stopped the attack, or at least sufficiently warned the Longbottoms of the danger they were in. As it was, he had done nothing, and one of the few people who had treated him kindly had been struck down as a result.

When Neville Longbottom had finally presented as a firstie at Hogwarts - hapless, utterly lacking any form of confidence, and with about as much spine as a Flobberworm - and then became friends with Harry Potter, his guilt had been transformed into another emotion: rage. Given the need to maintain his cover, there was no way that Snape could have been any sort of mentor to the boy, and over the years it doubly infuriated him to see that he was being primed for sacrifice just as Potter was.

But by some miracle, Neville Longbottom had lived through the Final Battle, and it had been he who had been Severus' first visitor upon waking up at St Mungo's following the defeat of the Dark Lord. His sardonic opening line- "I do apologise, sir, but on account of the smell, Kingsley refused to let me bring you Nagini's head on a pike,"- had set the tone for their adult relationship going forward. Genuine apologies had been offered and accepted, and when Snape had tentatively broached the subject of bringing his potions expertise to bear on his parents' continued incapacitation, Neville had enthusiastically accepted.

And now all that work... all that hope was for nought.

 _Oh, Alice_ , Severus mourned. _After all this time, why did it have to be you?_ Then came his sorrow for Frank, for the thread of a relationship that had been cut cruelly short, and just shy of a reunion. And Neville...

Healer Brizendine was questioning MacIntosh about the cause of the haemorrhage, and Snape put up a quelling hand to halt the ghoulish discussion. "Is Neville here?" he asked roughly.

Emma nodded. "Yes, we summoned him about forty minutes ago."

"And Frank?"

"Was moved to a separate room as we began resuscitation efforts. He seems to be unaware of what has happened. Neville is sitting with him now."

"I should go down and speak with him," Severus said, but couldn't summon the will power to do anything other than sit like a useless piffy on a rock.

Emma made a few other placating comments before leaving, taking Brizendine with her. Snape was jolted out of his unconscious reverie by the feeling of something warm and wet hitting his palm; abruptly, he realised that he was crying.

Panic hit him harder than a well-aimed bombarda, and he was on his feet and out of the lab before he was aware he'd moved. He could not let anyone see him in such a state. Flying down the corridor to his office, Snape threw open the door and rushed in. The door slammed shut behind him as he scrabbled at the handle of his desk drawer, trying to release the hidden compartment to reach the calming draft that he had stored there.

_I only need a sip... I just need a little bit to take the edge off, and then everything will be fine... I'll be fine..._

The phial was cold in his shaking hands, and the cork bounced onto the floor with a muffled clatter as he yanked it out. Opening his mouth wide, he waited for the viscous liquid to hit his tongue and bring with it the soothing release of detachment. But there was no relief; the bottle was completely empty.

Dumbly, he stared down at the dark glass in confusion. He had refilled it less than a week ago, and each phial held fourteen doses. Why wasn't there any calming draft left?

Stark terror mingled with his growing grief over Alice. Severus knew that he had been indulging a bit too often, but the reality of having taken two weeks of calming draft in only four days was shocking: it was entirely too close to the deadly dependencies of his alcoholic parents to do anything other than sicken him.

 _I'm too late_ , he thought despondently, grief and guilt overwhelming him. _I've always been too late, and I'm not good for a goddamn thing..._

"Fuck!" he exclaimed, throwing the useless phial at the wall, a shower of shards raining back on him in return.

The anger-fueled destruction felt good. Felt... cleansing. Without conscious thought, another object found its way into his hand, and Snape hurled it at the wall as well. An inkwell followed with a spectacularly messy result, and then a half-full mug. One object became many, and at last there was nothing but the clamour and cacophony as everything shattered.

* * *

It was Hermione who finally had the courage to dismantle his wards to check on him.

Severus had come to in the darkened room some ten minutes earlier finding that he had annihilated everything not nailed down. Sitting collapsed on the floor, blood streamed down his face from the mixed effects of a nosebleed and several facial lacerations.

Hermione said nothing as she surveyed the damage, finally casting a series of cleaning and repairing charms on the space to make it safe for her to walk in. Alas, his chair and desk were a lost cause, and so she transfigured the splintered coat rack into a reasonable facsimile of a leather executive chair.

Crouching down, she offered him a hand. "Up you come."

He took it silently and let her haul him to his feet. Carefully, she guided him to the chair and sat him down, casting diagnostic charms in a thorough sweep. Three more waves of magic stopped his nosebleed, removed the lingering blood, and healed most of the cuts. The remaining wound - a long, deep gouge that sliced over Severus' cheek and into his hairline - required more of an effort for her to fix.

"Severus..." Hermione remarked softly, cupping his cheek as her magic flowed over his skin. "There was nothing that you could do to save Alice. We have no way to diagnose that kind of problem. Assuming that we could get an MRI scanner to work on someone magical, we would have been hard-pressed to have the capacity to fix it. Even Muggle doctors would have been hard-pressed to fix it."

Shying away from the main crux of her argument, Severus belatedly realised that she was finally using his given name after months of sticking with formality. It only muddied his emotional waters further. "Two weeks," he said finally, voice broken. "We are two weeks, at most, away from having the permissions to administer the potions..."

"Yes," Hermione agreed calmly. "And given that Alice had a ticking time bomb in her brain, we would probably have killed her had we begun treatment."

"We were so close."

"I know."

Severus couldn't have hidden his desolation if he had wanted to, and he watched Hermione at a complete and utter loss as to what to do next. Brown eyes fathomless in the gloom, she stared back at him.

Like the night at Collete Rosier's bedside, something electric crackled to life between them, and she slipped her slender hand around his, cradling it in her warmth and trying to comfort him. Palm to palm, Hermione pushed her magic towards him through the bond.

He felt the grief that lay at the centre of her, an immovable mountain, as well as the shiver-inducing fear that the same fate might meet her parents. Countering all that was her stubborn determination to see their job through, to make up for the horrible liberties that she had taken with her parents' trust, safety, and health.

Enveloping it all was a profound, abiding concern for him.

The taste of her compassion was like finding a source of endless cool water in the desert of his soul. In that instant, he wanted more. Needed so much more. _No_ , he told himself grimly, finally gathering enough control to fight the temptation to deepen the link hummed between them. _What if I discover that her feelings are nothing other than a healer's native benevolence? That anything more between us, any dream of a personal relationship, is merely a mirage?_

He knew that he wouldn't be able to reconcile himself to that rejection. Fear impelled Severus to act, and it was with a regretful, ragged gasp that he pulled away from her and stood up. Still, he couldn't bring himself to move out of Hermione's reach, feeling the faint warmth of her body and smelling the bright lemon of her shampoo with each inhalation.

Mercifully, his wand was unharmed, and Severus used it to straighten and mend his clothing. "Am I presentable?"

"Nearly." With gentle fingers, she brushed a glamour charm into being around his eyes, hiding the redness that lurked there. Hermione's lips quirked as she did the same to her own face, erasing the signs of her own tears. "This is one of the few useful things that I learned from Lavender Brown, you know."

"I can imagine."

Even with the buffering effects of the charm, heartache still marked her expression. Despite all that, she was luminous to him, flyaway curls and rumpled lime-green scrubs doing nothing to lessen her attraction.

' _Severus...'_

The recollection of Hermione murmuring his name with that welter of emotion hit him anew, and his traitorous body stirred into life. He could suddenly taste the sweetness of her mouth and wanted nothing more than to pull her back into the chair and into his arms. Phantom sensations rippled over him: the press of their bodies and the perfect curve of Hermione's bare breast under his questing fingers... hearing a drawn-out moan, half entreaty and half declaration. If only Severus could sink into her being and lose himself in an emotion that wasn't fear or sorrow. If only he could find himself in her...

And it was all an impossible, futile desire.

After years of ill-treatment, what had he done to earn her respect, never mind any sort of romantic affection? How could she look past all of his misdeeds? With that thought, the weight of his sins fell back across his shoulders like an iron yoke. Closing his eyes briefly, he searched for a way to move forward that wasn't destructive.

"Will you accompany me to go see Neville?" he inquired at last. This one favour wasn't too much to ask, he decided. She was friends with Longbottom, after all.

"Of course. I need to deliver my own condolences as well." Hermione's reply was instantaneous, and she lightly touched his arm. "Besides, you shouldn't have to see Neville alone. Not this time."

Her understanding - her unwavering compassion - once again almost completely unmanned him. In the space between two heartbeats, Severus' lust transmuted into something simpler, and he desperately wished that he could let his aching head sag onto her shoulder and weep within the protective shelter of her embrace.

_Get a hold of yourself, man, before you scare her off for good. And then where will you be?_

Severus stepped back before he did something truly foolish. "Shall we?"

"Yes." Hermione turned and made her way to the door.

He was drawn along behind her like a magnet until she paused on the threshold. With a visible effort, Hermione squared her shoulders, bracing herself for the difficult conversations ahead. This would not be any easier for her, given her parent's condition and their nascent hopes, nevermind her longstanding friendship with Neville. Severus placed his hand lightly on the small of her back, trying to provide what little succour he could.

Hermione inhaled, leaning back into his touch. Her eyes met his over the line of her shoulder.

"Together?"

"Together."

* * *

Six weeks later, the gloom of Alice Longbottom's death had finally started to recede. It was a rare sunny Tuesday in late December, and the sunshine had served to bolster everyone's mood. Snape was absently walking down the hallway scanning his notes when he caught sight of Granger sitting with Marcus Levant in the conference room; Levant said something apparently witty, and she threw her head back and laughed joyously.

The golden light streaming in through the window turned Hermione's hair into a glowing tumble of curls, and with her bright eyes and warm smile, she was so beautiful that Severus felt a jolt as his heart skip a beat. Hot on the heels of that emotion was a blinding rush of jealousy: rage that it was Marcus making Hermione laugh and not him, fury that Hermione would find the bastard funny in the first place, and finally a sickening lurch of recognition.

_I am in love with Hermione._

It was such a cliché - a middle-aged, sad sack of a man only realising that he was in love with his brilliant and stunning colleague when he sees her laughing with someone else - that Severus would have ridiculed the notion relentlessly if it wasn't happening to him... yet again.

Because that was the sheer, unmitigated, horror of the situation: this had happened once before, and when it had, Severus had managed to ruin not just his life, but a whole host of other peoples', including that of the woman whom he had loved.

The memory of walking into the Great Hall one morning to find Lily, resplendent and radiant, laughing with James Potter, was still seared into his mind. The accompanying tidal wave of jealousy had been the final nail in the coffin of his friendship with Lily. Had he not been so obsessed with her, so unwilling to settle for what he saw as 'mere' friendship, she would not have started to look for reasons to end their relationship. Indeed, his poor behaviour and jealousy had driven Lily right into Potter's waiting arms, and Severus into the clutches of one Tom Riddle.

And now, nearly thirty years later, it was happening again.

 _I can't do this_ , was the only clear thought running through his panicked mind. _I can't hide what I'm feeling from anyone right now..._

With a jerk, he turned and fled towards his office. Halfway down the hall, he nearly ran over Keiko Matthews.

"Boss, are you alright?" the woman asked, concerned.

"Fine," he got out, waving his notes about in what was hopefully a distracting manner. "Just realised something and I need to get it down. Start the meeting without me."

Not waiting for a response, Severus continued down the corridor until he reached his office, shutting the door with an audible sigh of relief.

 _I am so, so fucked_ , he thought, slowly making his way over to his chair. The very same chair that Granger had transformed for him, and he had been unwilling to replace...

_What am I to do?_

* * *

It took the entirety of the luncheon meeting to calm himself down and put up a neutral enough mask that people wouldn't immediately ask questions about his hasty flight. When Granger knocked on his door at a quarter past two, he answered it readily enough.

"Are you alright?" she asked, leaning against the door jamb. "You missed Nate's presentation."

"I'm fine," he said, putting down his pen. "Just had an idea that I needed to wrestle into submission."

"Hmmm..." Granger cocked her head and stared at him for a long moment, as if trying to see through his calm façade. "Anything I should know about said idea?"

"Perhaps at a later date," Snape answered shortly, supremely aware of the irony.

She wasn't convinced. "Are you sure that you are okay?"

"Other than having a headache, I'm fine." He risked a glance up and put some starch in his tone. "Might I remind you that you are a healer, not a nursemaid. There is no need to fuss over me. I happen to know that you have far better things on which to focus your attention."

"As you wish." Granger turned and then paused, looking back at him. "Severus, I know that we didn't have the best start... but if there is something wrong, something I've done to displease you..."

The obvious worry in her tone was enough to soften his own. "No. You haven't done anything wrong, Granger."

"Good. I do hope that if we can't manage to be friends, we can at least be friendly with each other. This has been a difficult time for all of us. If you need something, even if it's just a sympathetic ear, I hope that you know that you can come to me."

Severus had no bloody clue what to think of her hesitant speech. Was she saying that they couldn't be friends? Or that they just weren't friends yet? Did he have it all wrong? "Thank you. I will."

Granger gave him a final nod and ducked out of the office, shutting the door with a muffled click. Cradling his head in his hand, Snape didn't know if he wanted to laugh, cry, or throw another massive wobbly. One thing was certain, however: he needed to get his head back on, ASAP. Preferably before he lashed out and ruined everything again.

"Yahtzee," he called tiredly, wondering what else could go wrong in his misbegotten life.

"Yes, Master?" the elf said, popping into his office directly next to him.

"I need you to make me an appointment with the counselling department. Patrick Hewes. Please request the soonest available opening."

Yahtzee stared at him for a long moment before bowing deeply. "That is a good choice."

"I am so glad that you approve," he replied acidly.

The diminutive creature patted his hand several times. At first, Severus thought he was trying to be comforting, a notion utterly dispelled when he spoke again.

"Master is too sallow... you has impaired liver function because you always is drinking the happy potion. Shall Yahtzee also consult a hepatologist?"

* * *

Snape was bent over a microscope peering at an LFB stain of a myelin sample some two weeks later when Granger came bustling noisily into the lab. She was so obviously trying to gain his attention that he redoubled his focus, taking painstakingly detailed notes just to better make her cross. She made it about a minute before exhaling loudly, and Snape looked up with a faint smirk.

"You shouldn't be here," she remarked pointedly, sidling closer to see what he was working on.

"I had matters to attend to. Besides, pot, kettle, et al."

Granger snorted. "Shall I sic Yahtzee on you?"

That got his attention. Fleetingly, he wondered if the two of them were conspiring against him; they certainly had been keeping a suspicious enough eye on him as of late. "Do that, and I'll let it slip that you've taken up knitting again. And I won't only limit the news to Yahtzee."

"It's winter, and bloody brass monkeys. I'm merely making scarves, not trying to foment a social movement." She rolled her eyes, unconcerned by his casual stab at intimidation. "Oh, fine, I won't call for him. But only under one condition."

"Are you attempting to threaten me, Granger?"

She threw his smirk back at him. "It's not an attempt."

"Go on with it, then," he muttered, amused with her attitude despite himself.

Her voice turned serious. "You should go home, Severus. We're an hour away from it being Christmas."

"And?" His good mood was swiftly killed by the reminder.

"You shouldn't be working at Christmas."

Snape sighed, a dozen retorts coming to mind. With no family and few friends, where was he supposed to go? And what did it matter anyway? "Plenty of people work during the festive season. Christmas Day isn't any different from any other day for me," he settled on at last.

A brief flash of sorrow crossed her face. "You could at least have a lie-in."

"I have chronic insomnia."

"And I'd be happy to drug you."

A rough laugh escaped. "I just bet you would."

"All this," she stated, pointing around the lab, "will wait." Pulling a garishly wrapped flat package from behind her back, she offered it to him. "It's time to leave."

Snape didn't reach for it. "And what on earth is that?"

"A proper inducement." She nudged the package into his hand, forcing him to take it lest it fall to the floor. Snape stared at the thing incredulously. What was he supposed to do with it? Should he open it in front of her, or wait until he was alone?

"Go on, open it!"

Her excitement raised a mental red flag, and Severus contemplated casting a dark detection charm on it to ensure that the item was safe. _No_ , he decided swiftly. _If Granger wanted me hexed, she'd hardly resort to giving me a pressie in order to do so. Plus she'd hardly harm me when I'm being useful to her cause..._ Deftly using a slicing spell to split the tape, he carefully pulled the paper back from the objects within.

He was holding a stack of classic British comic books from the late seventies.

"How did you know I collect these?" he asked in disbelief, flipping quickly through the action-filled covers of _Valiant, Eagle, Roy of the Rovers,_ and _Captain Britain_.

"I overheard you arguing about them with Sabrina a couple of months ago. A few days later I was at a car boot sale with Luna and saw them tucked in a box of books. I decided it was meant to be."

"I... thank you, Granger. I don't think that I have any of these yet."

She smiled. "Good. I'm glad to hear that. I knew it was a bit of risk, but if I was going to give you books for Christmas, I'd at least attempt something unusual."

"You succeeded. They are," Snape said, genuinely touched by the present and by the fact that Granger had been paying enough attention to get him something truly personal. His mind flashed to the present hidden in his private desk that he had wrapped for her weeks earlier; for the first time, he was pleased that the notion to give her something had occurred to him. "I have something for you as well."

That took Granger by surprise. "You didn't have to get me anything."

"No, I didn't. However, I'm not entirely bereft of manners, either."

"No, you aren't." It was said with an element of warm humour that caused his stomach to twist uncomfortably.

Wordlessly, he summoned the present from his office, catching it as it flew through the air of the lab. In a smooth movement, he tossed it toward her and she caught it. Snape hadn't had the courage to give it to her earlier; the instant it was in her hands, he began to suffer from the small agonies of trying to decide if he wanted her to unwrap it in front of him or not.

Granger didn't wait for an invitation. Gleefully, she shredded the wrapping. Unlike his own careful dissection, there would be no reusing her paper. Revealing a velvet pouch, she reached in and extracted a small enamel sigil done in evergreen and silver. Blinking in surprise, Granger looked up at him.

"It's my old apprenticeship pin," he said quickly, feeling the need to explain. "Since you haven't finished your healer certification, you can't officially be registered as my apprentice. However, the work that you've done over the last year has more than covered the requirements for a first-year apprentice. I wanted you to have some recognition of that."

"Oh. Oh my..." she stuttered, spots of bright red appearing on her cheeks. "That's... very generous of you." Abruptly, Granger seemed to stuff her emotions away, and he couldn't tell if she was pleased or not. "Thank you so much."

"Thank you," he returned soberly. "You have made much possible this year."

Granger swallowed thickly, eyes downcast. "As have you."

Once more, the air seemed to hum between them and Severus was struck by several conflicting desires. Opening his mouth - whether to apologise again for his prior behaviour or to ask something completely ridiculous - Severus was startled by a low crack as Yahtzee appeared.

"You is supposed to be gone!" he exclaimed, pointing at Hermione angrily. "And you!" he added, narrowing his eyes at Snape. "You is promised to go home three hours ago!"

"We were just-"

"I was only giving him-"

With a glower worthy of Napoleon, the elf summoned their jackets and bags, shoving them roughly in their direction as he muttered about idiotic masters and misses working themselves into early graves. "Enough lies! You is both going home right now, or Yahtzee will be telling the Spell Damage Ward that you is still here and needing jobs. They is very, very busy tonight, and they has a man with a hex-induced faecal impaction who has been waiting for hours and hours to be seen."

Shrugging his overcoat on with a grimace at the thought of rummaging through someone's colon, Snape swiftly vanished the slides and equipment into their proper places. "Cease and desist, elf! We're going."

"You is saying that hours ago!"

"Well," Granger tried gamely, hustling herself out the door, "this time we are actually walking to the Apparition point, aren't we?"

"Hmph," Yahtzee grumbled, following them doggedly down the empty halls.

Reaching the Apparition point, Snape halted, wishing that Yahtzee's interruption had come a few minutes later. Granger put her hand out to touch his sleeve, looking as if she too wanted to say something else.

"Severus," she began, before another impatient huff from the elf cut her off. "I just wanted to say... happy Christmas."

There was so much he wanted to say to her, and even more that he could not. "Happy Christmas," he returned eventually, and then pulled himself into the compressive chaos of Apparition.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N.~ One step forward, two steps back?
> 
> The very first fanfic I ever wrote was a short one-shot that showed just how the friendship between Alice Longbottom and Severus Snape came about; if you are interested, you can find it on my profile under 'Bubble Gum and Broken Heels'. Despite having written nearly twenty stories since then, it remains my favourite of everything I've done.
> 
> I am incredibly fortunate to have an awesome beta in the talented Q_Drew, and this week I've become doubly lucky that one of my lovely readers, Heliotrope, has also joined forces to better marshall my writing in line. Thank you so much, Heli0trope! Last but not least, a massive thanks to all who continue to read, follow, kudo, and comment. You guys are the best! :) 
> 
> Stay safe, stay well, and happy reading!


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

**Melbourne, Australia**

**June 2004**

"Pull over!" Hermione choked out, hand flying to her mouth in an attempt to hold off the rising tide of vomit from escaping and liberally splattering the inside of the hire car.

As he did most things, Snape executed the manoeuvre perfectly, swiftly cutting through the midday traffic and guiding the vehicle to the kerb with a minimum of fuss; he even managed to release her seat belt as she scrabbled to unlock and open the door. Gagging, Hermione stuck her head out of the opening and heaved, her meagre breakfast making an abrupt re-emergence. Hot bile splashed back up at her, and she flinched, miserable as another convulsion shook through her.

When it was all over, a large hand, warm and solid, settled comfortingly on her shoulder as a wave of cleansing magic dealt with the sick. Snape didn't say anything, but really, he didn't need to: his actions were more than enough. Leaning back into her seat and taking several shaky breaths in, Hermione watched him out of the corner of her eye. He remained calm and collected, only a faint suggestion of concern wrinkling his brow.

Gratitude and guilt hit her in equal measures. Severus Snape had been her friend, rock, mentor, and saviour these last three years. Without him, she would not be sitting in a car with a boot full of healing and restorative potions on her way to her parent's bungalow in an eastern suburb of Melbourne. Instead of futility working alone on a cure for them, Hermione was one part of a highly lauded potions research team, responsible for some of the most revolutionary breakthroughs in modern wizarding medicine. Although she felt guilty at the way she had abruptly put her healing certifications on hold, the move had granted her access to the most state-of-the-art laboratory one could wish for, with a budget and backing that was generous to a fault. Without Severus... well, she rather thought that she would have gone stark raving mad by now.

But the possibility of a cure for her parents had come at a painfully high cost; there were days when the guilt of what she had done seemed to be eating right through Hermione like armadillo bile. Hermione had knowingly and willingly bound Severus Snape to her cause just as ruthlessly as Albus Dumbledore or Tom Riddle ever had. Whilst there were some days that she could convince herself that it was all for the benefit of the greater good, in the end, she had weaponised him just as they had done.

As a youth, Hermione's feelings about Snape had been deeply ambiguous. From the first day, she had granted him reverence and respect due to both his ferocious intelligence and professorial rank. Then too, was the simple truth that Professor Snape had saved her life many times over- such as the time he had jumped in front of a Lupin-the-werewolf to rescue her. Later, there had been the added understanding of just how much he risked for the Order as a double agent, and the enormous emotional and physical toll that took on him.

He was an enigma, a champion strategist, and an actor worthy of note. But none of that negated the fact that he had willingly joined a violent and fascist hate group as a youth and loathed Harry with a dogged determination purely on account of who his parents were. As a teacher, he could have a vicious, spiteful temper and was a bully to many of his students. Indeed, Snape had taken a gleeful enjoyment in cutting her down to size on numerous occasions... but that was contrasted by the fact that he had also taken a considerable risk in telling her that her parents were in danger; he had risked everything to keep Harry alive, and not just as a means to an end. Although Severus Snape was a consummate Slytherin, his closest friends - Harry's Mum, Charity Burbage, Minerva - had all been Gryffindor women, a fact that always given her a pause.

Those myriad dualities had kept her up on many a night wondering how to reconcile his actions with the many facets of his character, and she had been further confused when Harry had shown her Snape's leaked memories from the Shrieking Shack. Seeing the mountain of abuse that the boy had faced growing up broke her heart; seeing the things that Albus Dumbledore expected of a man searching for atonement had utterly enraged her. His loyalty and love for Lily Potter had shaken her to her core.

As a junior Healer at St Mungo's, Hermione had steered well clear of the wizard; it was apparent that he had wanted to distance himself from anything related to Hogwarts and the war. For her part, there had been a sense of lingering unease whenever she had thought of him, and besides which, she had her own messes to deal with. For a time, she had gladly let sleeping dogs lie.

On the night that Collette Rosier had died, she had already been considering going to him and requesting his assistance with treating her parents. His reputation at the hospital was that of a fair if demanding master, and Hermione had been hopeful that he might at least be induced to point her in more fruitful research directions.

She had been prepared to deal with him in a friendly, respectful manner as fellow adults and colleagues; Hermione had not been prepared for him to respond as if nothing had changed, as if they were still at Hogwarts and she the wayward and foolish child in need of strong correction. Snape's sneering reaction to her grief only added to her sense of injustice. When he had demanded that she attend the luncheon working group with the express intent of humiliating her, something had snapped in Hermione. The lingering trust and deference she felt for him had been utterly shattered. All the good she knew of him had been rendered useless by his continued cruel pettiness. Moreover, she was convinced that if he knew her real aim, he would prevent her from using St Mungo's private research carrels, and Hermione was not going to risk losing the resources that the hospital offered.

It came as a bitter and shocking blow to discover that he held the keys that could lead to a restoration of her parents. His work concerning brain function and repair, while not wholly analogous to hers, was parallel enough to be of major significance; it was also considerably more advanced. At that moment, had Hermione been able to punch him in the middle of his smug face as she'd once done to Draco Malfoy, she would have done so with great pleasure.

Naturally, Severus had read the intent in her expression that afternoon and matched her anger step for step. "Since you so clearly need to vent your spleen," he had said to her with a condescending smirk, "do tell what renders me so despicable in your sainted eyes."

And so Hermione had. Unloading on him entirely, she enumerated the reasons why she hated him, holding nothing back. But she hadn't been satisfied with merely a verbal reckoning. No, Hermione's temper could be just as sharp and vindictive as Snape's- after all, she had once kept Rita Skeeter trapped in a jar for months with nary a moral quibble.

Thanks to the knowledge gained from being both a member of the Order of Phoenix and Harry's best friend, Hermione had been one of the few that had understood precisely how to push Snape's buttons. Knowing how deeply he had felt the weight of his students' suffering under his single year as Headmaster, as well as the importance he gave to duty, she had sought to twist the knife a little deeper.

Coolly and deliberately, she had laid her guilt over her parent's condition at his feet, letting Severus feel the burn of indirect blame - and felt it he did. After all, he had personally warned her about the increased threat to them and then had failed to confirm that the Headmaster had heeded his words. Hermione had seen the ghastly way that he had flinched from her charge before accepting the entirety of that burden; the wound had gone far deeper than she had planned.

A better person than she would have stopped matters right then and there, would have apologised for trying to shift the blame to his shoulders. Hermione hadn't. Couldn't. No, she had full well known how guilt motivated Severus Snape and the power therein. When he had promptly proposed working together, she had agreed on the outside chance that it would restore her parents to her, and damn the consequences.

In the preceding years, Severus had moved mountains on her behalf, expecting and asking for nothing in return, not even forgiveness. Working so closely, Hermione had seen his vulnerabilities and strengths in full; he had humbled himself in such a grand fashion that it shamed her. And now, on the cusp of realising all their hard work, the only thing that Hermione could focus on was that she had gotten here through an act of coercion and misplaced guilt.

 _What have I done?_ she asked herself for the millionth time and felt sick anew.

"Hermione," Severus called, a thread of concern wrapping through his voice.

Belatedly, Hermione realised that she had let her eyes close and had been sitting in silence for several minutes. "I'm fine. Sorry."

His fingers brushed against hers gently as he re-fastened her seat belt. "It's going to be alright."

She couldn't stomach another lie, so she uttered the only truth that she could. "I have every faith in you."

His lips thinned for an instant, something opaque flickering through his dark eyes. "And I have every faith in our work. We will do this, Hermione."

Letting herself bask in the confidence of his gaze for a moment, she nodded once. She had to believe; there was no margin for error. Not this time. "Thank you for everything, Severus."

"In this, you never have to thank me." Glancing in his mirrors, Severus signalled and pulled back out into traffic.

 _And that belief_ , she thought, _is precisely the problem..._

* * *

Two hours later, Hermione sat at her parent's bedside, staring at their slack faces. She and Snape had gained entry into the house by pretending they were with the Australian Department of Home Affairs; Monica and Wendell Wilkens had recently applied for permanent residency and therefore readily agreed to an interview. Once in the brick Edwardian bungalow, Snape had stunned them and moved them into the master bedroom. He was currently in the lounge setting up a series of protective wards while she completed a thorough medical exam.

The visible signs of ageing had started to creep over her parents, rendering them oddly unfamiliar from certain angles. In addition to softer mid-sections, both had sprinklings of grey in their hair, and her Mum had glasses for the first time. Thankfully, other than finding a slightly elevated blood pressure in her father and that her Mum's knee had the beginnings of arthritis, she found both were in good health.

Pausing, Hermione stopped to hold her Mum's warm hand for a moment; faintly, she could smell the floral whiff of _Le Jardin_ perfume still clinging to her skin even though it was a Saturday. The scent seemed to rocket her back in time, memories coming hard and fast. The echoes of her parent's laughter rang in her ears. Hermione was suddenly awash with duelling recollections: setting the table as her parents argued good-naturedly about the day's news while they cooked... sitting curled up on the sofa with her Mum, her dad in the chair next to them and all three of them reading peacefully... puttering away with her Father in his shed, the sharp odour of freshly-mown grass tickling her nose in a pleasing way... the rhythmic hum of the sewing machine as her Mum made her new curtains to hang in her bedroom...

The sensation of tears rolling down her face slowly brought Hermione back to the present, and she sniffed, trying to stave off a good cry. "Please forgive me," she whispered. "I miss you so much, and I only did this because I couldn't think of any other way to keep you safe. If I had known how hard it was going to be to bring you back... how long it was going to take..." She shook her head, sighing. "...Well, I don't know what I would have done. Talked to you about what was happening and let you make your own choices, I hope."

As the impact of what she had done became evermore clear, fear pushed aside some of the sorrow. It was entirely possible that once her parents remembered her, once they understood the totality of what she had done to them, they would cut Hermione from their lives for good. _They won't_ , Hermione told herself bracingly. _They love me, and whilst they might be mad and hurt for a while, they will forgive me. We'll be a family again._

 _Please,_ she prayed silently, _let us be a family again!_

"Granger?" Snape called, and she straightened up, wiping away the last of the dampness from her cheeks. "Are you just about ready?"

Stepping away from the room and moving down the hallway, Hermione entered the lounge. Snape had been busy: all of the individual potions were laid out by course, and he had also prepared two separate emergency aid stations, complete with both magical and Muggle medicine. He had even transfigured the telly into a giant whiteboard listing the various steps of the healing protocol ready to be checked off.

"Yes, nearly," she replied. "I want to change into my scrubs, and we should probably eat something before we start. It's going to be a long morning."

"I already have that covered," Snape said. "Naturally, Yahtzee packed enough meals for a week. I warmed up a serving of bangers and mash for you. I know that it's not your favourite, but I thought it would sit better on your stomach than Thai curry or goulash."

Hermione smiled weakly. "You thought correctly. Where did you put my bags?"

"I set you up in the guest room off the family bath. I've taken the upstairs snug for myself."

"Right. Thanks." Going back down the hall, Hermione found the room and quickly set herself to rights. Peering at her pale face in the mirror, she pinned both the caduceus and enamel apprenticeship sigil that were marks of her trade to her lime green top. Some calm returned to her at the familiar ritual, and her shoulders relaxed.

_We can do this. It will be alright. It's worked before, and it's going to work on my parents now._

Closing her eyes, Hermione took a deep breath in, centring herself. Deliberately, she walled off all her negative thoughts and fears one-by-one: they had no place in what she and Snape were about to do. Just as purposefully, she recalled happier times and the patient victories that had occurred over the years as if she was trying to summon her Patronus. Last but not least was an image of Severus in the lab, smiling after a piece of excellent news. The sheer warmth of that memory chased away the last of her nerves, and it was with a calm stomach and manner that she walked back out to Severus.

Feeling properly like Healer Granger for the first time in days, she spoke confidently. "While we eat, let's go over my parent's medical report. There is not much to be overly concerned about, but there are a couple of areas to watch, especially once we hit the second phase..."

* * *

Hours passed, then days. They were close to being finished, painfully so. Her mother had opened her eyes several times during the last several hours and Hermione fancied that she saw recognition glowing in those depths. But her father... it had been a fight the entire time to keep him stable, and his blood pressure was all over the map. More troubling was the way that he seemed to be having increasingly adverse reactions to each successive round of potions. The last - a magically enhanced combination of a cholinesterase inhibitor and oxytocin - had sent him into an epileptic seizure that lasted nearly seven minutes.

Hermione was heavily fatigued, having only gotten snatches of sleep since they had begun on Saturday morning. Snape looked marginally better, but Hermione figured that it was only because he had more practice at hiding his actual condition than she did.

"Do you want me to increase the concentration of the vasodilator in the next dose?" Snape asked as they stared down at her father consideringly.

"No. I'm half a mind to cut the dose and space it out further to see if that makes any difference." Hermione shook her head wearily, trying to push past the exhaustion. "I just don't know. It's almost like he's having an anaphylactic reaction to anything magical that we give him."

"If that's the case, cutting it down isn't going to help any." The set of runes over her Mum flickered slightly, changing from a navy blue to a greenish-teal, and Severus continued, "We need to administer the last sedative to your mother before she wakes up on us. Do you want to complete the entire protocol with her and then go back and finish with your father? It would give him several hours to rest before we begin the next course."

Dropping down into a chair, Hermione gazed at the two sets of diagnostic runes floating above them. "No," she decided at last. "I don't want to risk having them at two different stages... if we can't stabilise my father, there is no way that I would be willing to push forward with Mum. I can't separate them like that. They'd never forgive it."

"As you wish." Severus' voice was sharp, but she didn't take offence, especially as he lightly brushed her arm as he left the room.

 _What would I do without him?_ Hermione wondered, before straightening up and returning her full attention to the problem at hand. _I could try to increase the plasma load..._

* * *

At half-past five on Monday morning, it all went to hell. Hermione had been casting cleansing charms over both of her parents when she noticed a distinct sagging on the left side of her father's face; glancing up at the swirling runes above his head, she saw that he was indeed having a massive stroke.

"Bloody fucking bollocks," she muttered before calling out to Snape. "I need the tPA, and a blood thinner right now!" With a few efficient waves of her wand, she cast a bubblehead charm over her father and filled it with pure oxygen to mitigate what damage she could.

Snape came into the room at speed but hesitated in handing the items over to her. "Hermione... if you administer the tPA at this stage, we won't be able to give the modified tau serum for the final step. While the tPA will break up the fibrin in the blood clot, it will also prevent the serum from properly absorbing for at least twelve hours."

She froze, a ball of dread exploding in her stomach. If she didn't give him the tPA now, her father would likely have irreversible brain damage due to the stroke, but if they couldn't administer the last potion and complete the process...

_It's a miracle we've gotten him this far along, and we can't wait twelve hours to administer the last potion. If we have to start over, another attempt is likely to kill him as not._

"Severus," she croaked, a feeling of dizziness sweeping over her as the realisation of what that meant- what was now surely lost- penetrated. "I know that it's terribly dangerous to enter a mind in this state, but I need you to use Legilimency on him to see how effective the treatment has been. I must know if there is any hope of restoring his memories or... not."

"Alright," he replied slowly. "Set a timer. If I haven't broken the link in three minutes, I'm going to need you to do it for me."

Nodding wordlessly, Hermione pulled a stopwatch from her kit. Snape took several deep breaths and settled himself on the bed facing her father. Spelling his eyes open, Severus pointed his wand at her father and spoke firmly. " _Legilimens_ ".

It was the longest wait of her life. Hermione was scared for Severus - even the strongest Legilimens could get lost in a mind that was fracturing like her father's - and doubly terrified by the decisions that she was shortly going to be forced to make.

With a gasp, Severus finally pulled free and reached for the bedside bin, gagging. One look at his expression told her all she needed to know.

"There's nothing at all of George Granger in his mind. The memories are all Wendell Wilkens." He paused, magpie eyes momentarily bright with pain. "I'm so sorry, Hermione."

"It's for the best," she whispered, trying desperately to convince herself. "At least now I don't have to choose between letting the stroke continue to damage his brain or completing the final step of the healing protocol."

"Do you want me to check your mother?" he asked, wiping his mouth on a handkerchief.

 _Oh, Mummy…_ at that moment, Hermione wanted nothing more than a hug from her Mum, to feel the reassurance and comfort of those loving arms one last time.

"No. I don't need the temptation." If she knew that her mother was there, could be restored to her with the administration of just one more potion... "No," Hermione repeated more firmly. "My parents have been married for twenty-nine years. I'm not going to pull them apart just to make myself feel better."

Snape opened his mouth to argue but changed his mind as he took in her hard expression. Closing her father's eyes - a starkly empty gaze that nevertheless felt judgemental - Snape opened the vial of tPA and handed it to her. Casting the charm to deliver it directly to her father's bloodstream, Hermione numbly watched his vitals and brain wave activity. Slowly, the runes stabilised as the medicine began to work.

_That's it. My parents are gone forever._

* * *

Hermione spoke very little over the following twenty-four hours; her voice seemed to have broken along with her heart. It was all she could do to go through the motions. She pulled heavily on the rudiments of occulmency that Snape had taught her to keep from completely breaking down.

After treating her father and confirming that there was minimal lasting damage from the bleeding, they re-obliviated her parents; they also planted the suggestion that her father had suffered a series of mini-strokes while on a weekend scuba trip to ensure that he sought follow up care. Snape offered to modify their memories to include Hermione as a cousin or niece, but she declined.

"I can't pretend to be anything less than their daughter. And besides, I'd have to lie about my entire life- what I do, where I went to school... everything. It's not worth it just for a tenuous connection."

"As you wish." He was much subdued as well, and Hermione felt another wave of guilt break over her; it was clear that he was taking this defeat personally, and from the tightness in his expression, as a failure on his part to fulfil an unspoken promise.

"I'm so sorry," she said as they were doing a final sweep of her parent's house. "I shouldn't have dragged you into this in the first place."

Severus stopped and looked at her blankly for a moment. "Hermione... you shouldn't have been forced to protect your parents in such a fashion. However smart and mature you were, you were still a child and should not have been forced into making that type of decision. As adults, we should have been protecting you, not the other way around."

Hermione shook her head in denial, trying to explain something that she could barely articulate to herself. "It shouldn't have gotten this far in the first place. If I had spoken to my parents about how much danger we were all in... if I had been more honest with them as things become worse and not completely stripped them of their agency because I thought that I knew better... if I had asked more people for help, perhaps there would have been other options open to me. But at the end of the day, I am the one that decided to obliviate and relocate them, and any blame should lie with me. Not you, and not anyone else."

Snape disagreed. "The situation was a hell of a lot more complicated than that, and you know it."

"Was it?" Hermione asked bitingly, and then held up a shaking hand to forestall any further arguments. "I can't have this conversation right now. I just want you to know that you have nothing to feel guilty about. Your support, your backing- all of your hard work over the last four years gave me a chance that I never otherwise would have had, and I can't tell you how much it's meant to me. I would still be wandering in the weeds without your help."

Severus still looked conflicted, pushing her gently towards her parent's room after a long moment. "Go sit with them a little while longer while I finish up here."

She did as suggested, knowing that it was likely the last time she'd ever be able to touch or be in close contact with her parents. Just the thought of it sent a jagged lance of pain arching through her chest, and Hermione bit her cheek to hold back the tears a little while longer.

 _No_ , she told herself fiercely. _I orphaned myself. I don't get to cry. Not now. Not anymore. It's time to deal with the consequences of my actions._

The room was quiet but for the murmur of their breathing and the plaintive sound of a bird calling from the gum tree outside the window; one could almost mistake it for peaceful. Sitting on her Mum's side of the bed, Hermione took her hand and then reached across the bed to grasp her father's. She opened her mouth to speak, but any words had dried up.

Watching the hypnotising rise and fall of her Mum's chest, Hermione noted that her parent's breathing was perfectly in sync, and with an effort, she slowed hers to match them. Minutes passed. Perhaps it was her imagination, but it seemed as if a current had opened up between the three of them through the connection of their linked hands.

Closing her eyes, Hermione reached for her magic, reached for her love, sought out every happy moment she could recall and let those feelings tumble together until they seemed to be a physical thing about to burst free from her chest.

Hair crackling wildly, she shivered as a buzz raced over her skin. Unable to hold it back any longer, Hermione let the sentiment surge from her hands to theirs in a final blessing. "Be well. I love you," she gasped.

In a flash, suffocating magic filled the room, and Hermione felt like she was being dragged underwater by a great force. Eyes flying open, she tried to wrest her hands from her parents' but couldn't. Vision darkening, she struggled harder to stop the flow of magic that was flowing from her like a tidal wave. _No! No, what have I done now?_

A reverberating 'pop' echoed through Hermione, the sound felt more than heard.

Then there was nothing.

* * *

"...you bloody foolish, idiotically sentimental woman! Attempting to turn yourself into a squib and for what? Do you really think that your parents would want you to harm yourself just to prove how sorry you are? Wake up, goddamn it! _Rennervate_!"

Snape's deep voice - no longer a controlled rumble, but a sharp roar full of scorn - jabbed at her along with what felt like half a dozen diagnostic charms. With a moan, Hermione opened her eyes and stared up at Severus, unable to catalogue the twisted expression on his face.

He exhaled roughly when she finally met his gaze, and Hermione realised that what she was seeing wasn't anger but fear. It stunned her; in all the years she had known him, she had never seen such a stark sentiment painted so clearly upon his countenance.

"I'm here," Hermione mumbled, rolling to her side in an attempt to figure out where 'here' was. She was laid out on a hard sofa, the nubby brown fabric familiar. Indeed, the room was vaguely familiar as well, but Snape, crouched low over her, was blocking most of it from view.

"What were you thinking?" Snape thundered, not appeased one bit.

Hermione blinked, her mind still a muddle. "I... I wasn't. What happened?"

"You bloody well eviscerated yourself of magic, that's what happened! And now you have about as much magic as a sodding flobberworm. It'll take weeks before you are back to normal!"

"I was just trying to say goodbye -"

"Well, you nearly chose a permanent way of saying it!"

Adrenaline shot through her, and Hermione sat straight up. "My parents? Are they... ?"

"Are fine, as far as I can tell, and still sleeping off the effects of the sedatives despite your foolish blast of raw magic. Yahtzee is watching over them and will let us know if there are any issues." Seeing the flicker of hope in her face, Snape added, "Nothing changed, Hermione. I checked."

"Oh." She sagged back onto the sofa, belatedly recognising that they were in his private office, which meant that they were in London, at St Mungo's... and no longer in Melbourne with her parents. _Oh, god,_ she thought, desolation falling over her like a muffling veil. _It's really all over. I've completely lost them this time!_

"How did we get here?" she mumbled after an endless moment.

"I activated the emergency portkey when I couldn't wake you after that little stunt." Snape sat back on his heels, glaring down at her. "Hermione, I know that this was a difficult setback, but it's not the end of the road. There are several areas that we can expand upon -"

"No." Hermione's voice came out colder than she intended, matching the hollow feeling growing in her gut. She had to pull it together; this foolishness had to stop. There was no more hope. "I... appreciate the sentiment, but Monica and Wendell Wilkens aren't broken. They don't need to be fixed or cured. They only thing wrong with them is that they are not my parents, and that is a problem with me, not them. I need to come to terms with that once and for all."

Snape narrowed his eyes but said nothing.

"I meant it when I said that I will not put them at additional risk of injury or death just so that I can feel better. They are happy. They have friends and a good life. I'm not going to rob them of that a second time."

"Hermione..." All of the colour had leached from Snape's expression.

"Don't," she said, and for a moment, she wavered, contemplating reaching out and seeking the warmth of him. What would happen if she saught solace by having a good cry on Severus' strong shoulders? Would he let her? _But that way lies madness_ , she told herself. _I've leaned too much on him the last couple of years, and it needs to stop right now. He deserves to have his life back, not having another burden laid at his feet to take care of. He's given up too much of his life already._

Hermione resolved to maintain her composure and spoke in a measured tone that was at odds with her warring emotions, "Please don't feel bad about any of this situation. We gave it our best, and we both know that sometimes even that's not enough. Now it's time for me to move on. And you too." She mustered up a weak smile. "I've seen enough of your notes to know that working on Muggle-adapted potions was never on the agenda. Werewolves were next, weren't they?"

Snape stood, putting an abrupt distance between them. "Move on?"

"Yes." With a grunt, she swung her feet to the floor, taking deep breaths as the floor seemed to spin beneath them. The need to flee- to hide - was strong enough to push her through the weakness. _I have to leave. I need to go now before I fall into a million pieces. He can't know how badly this hurts... how badly I want to lean on him. I won't guilt him into helping me again. Not on something as futile as this._ "You put so much on hold for my sake. Now you can go back to what you really wanted to research. Work more with your real apprentices."

His lips thinned, and she wondered why he appeared so displeased. "And what will you be doing?"

She stood, gripping the arm of the sofa for balance. "I don't know. Finish my healing certification, I suppose. I still have three more rotations left, although I imagine that they will make me go through a remedial supervision course to ensure I'm still up to standards."

"I see," Severus said, although the disbelief in his body language said that he didn't. "One setback and you are just going to give up."

Hermione flinched. "We've faced plenty of setbacks. You and I both know that this is an entirely different situation. It's not giving up, it's accepting the truth that anything more that I might try to do will hurt them, not help them. Severus, I can't imagine that you really want me working here after everything. I... I used you poorly. I guilted you into doing all this, into focusing on my needs, not anything of yours. Don't you want your life, your lab back?"

He watched her for a series of painfully silent seconds. She could read nothing in his expression.

"Do you really think that you could force me into a course of action against my will? That I am so much of a pushover that you could force me into something that I didn't want?"

Confusion stilled her tongue. _What does he want from me? What does he want me to say?_

The desire to reach out flooded her again, and Hermione almost gave in. She felt shattered with grief, the many-headed tendrils of it gnawing at her raw psyche. But common sense finally prevailed victorious over the onslaught: she was truly on her own now and needed to learn how to deal with things accordingly. More than that, Hermione knew that if she continued to work in the lab with Snape, her resolve to let her parents live in peace would weaken. The recollection of her father's face, contorted into a blank grimace as he seized, uncontrollably filled her thoughts. _I can't risk it. I can't risk them. I have to let go for my safety and theirs..._

"I think that you are a deeply honourable man, and one who accedes to the dictates of duty far more than most ever would," Hermione replied formally, hoping Snape would see reason. "But by placing an unfounded burden of guilt at your feet, I have derailed your life and research for the last four years. For that, I apologise, and I want you to know that I am so grateful for everything you have done and everything that you have taught me. But I'm not going to impose on you any further. I always knew that restoring my parents was a long shot. Now I need to learn how to deal with that fact by myself."

Snape's response was equally as formal. "You don't wish to continue your work here?"

She swallowed, the words choking her. "I didn't say that... I just need to put some space between my personal life and my professional work. The best way to do that is to take a break from this for a little while. Completing my healing qualifications is at least one vow I can keep."

There was another protracted silence. Snape's eyes were dark and flat. "You will always be welcome here, Healer Granger."

Hermione bowed, a sense of overwhelming failure superseding everything else. "And I will always owe you a debt, Master Snape."

* * *

Hermione's absence in the lab was akin to a physical, gaping hole at the heart of it; everyone felt the loss, not just Snape. In a persistent, foul mood, and rather than cruelly inflict himself upon the others, he sequestered himself in his office, glowering at the walls for weeks on end trying to work out a solution. He had attempted to talk with Granger several times, but she had scurried away quickly enough after each encounter that even a blind man could have picked up the hint that she wanted to be well rid of him.

It hurt, viscerally so, to be rejected in such a fashion, but Snape couldn't blame Granger all that much. He had been the foolish one with the lingering hope of eventually winning her over. She had been clear about her feelings towards him from the start, and he could not blame her for them. Add to that their failure to restore her parents... well, Snape could completely understand her current avoidance.

If there was a silver lining to the entire sodding fiasco, it was that he had apparently had developed enough coping skills that he didn't slide completely in to drink or abusing calming drafts as he'd done so many times before. Oh, he wasn't a paragon of restraint and grace by any means, but even Patrick Hewes, his longtime counsellor, had told him that he was 'displaying remarkable resiliency'. It was a dubious compliment at best.

Severus was well acquainted with the stubborn determination of Hermione Granger, and he knew that once she got over the shock of what had occurred, she would change her mind and want to continue trying to repair her parents oblivations. It was only a matter of time. He just had to wait her out, but if he fell to pieces in the meantime, he'd be in a right state when she did knock on his door.

Still, Snape worried about her endlessly: she looked like utter shite, and if the reports from the Spell Damage Ward were true, was not doing well personally or professionally. Indeed, both Potter and Neville had come to him with concerns, but he was at a loss as to what more he could do without her express cooperation.

It was a visit from Emma MacIntosh that finally spurred him into action. When the Head of St Mungo's appeared at his door grim-faced once more, Snape wordlessly reached for the whiskey decanter at the side of his desk and offered her a drink.

"My thanks, Severus. It's an ugly day out there."

"One would hardly know that it was June," he agreed, scowling at the rain lashing the window.

"I'm afraid the news that I bring isn't much better. I just approved a three-month leave of absence for Hermione Granger. As you know, she's been struggling mightily since returning to the wards, and there has been an added... complication."

Downing his serving of whiskey in one go, he contemplated pouring another. _No, I'd better not..._ "And that is?"

"Her magic is so inconsistent that it's not commensurate with being a Healer. Frankly, most days she's little better than squib. I examined her myself, and I do think that it's a psychological problem, not anything physical. She agrees, for what it's worth."

"She would," Snape replied flatly. "And what, precisely, is her course forward?"

Emma's mouth pursed. "Alas, I don't think that she has much of one. I suggested - strongly, mind - counselling, but she was resistant. I believe her plan is to take a break entirely from magic for several weeks and then reassess the situation."

"Ahh, yes," Snape said caustically, "because twiddling one's thumbs and hoping for the best works out so well in the majority of cases."

"Master Snape," MacIntosh intoned chidingly, appearing shocked at his response, "I came to you because I thought you would have some sympathy for Healer Granger's condition, not mock it. She is sick, not merely workshy, and I shouldn't have to remind you that magical depilation causes severe imbalances -"

His temper boiled over. "Cease the lecture, Emma! I know what is at risk, believe me. My mother lost her magic when I turned twelve and didn't live to see me reach my majority. I bloody well know the seriousness of the situation!"

The healer stilled, the ire dropping from her face. "I did not know that."

"Most people don't." Snape put his drink down with a muted thunk. If he indulged any further, he'd be half-soused before noon and that was a level of ridiculousness he was trying to avoid. "I have tried to speak with her. I have offered my support in all the ways that I know how. I have even resorted to colluding with her friends to stage an intervention. None of that has made a whisper of a difference. If you have any suggestions, I will gladly listen. At this point, the only things I can think of to do are highly illegal."

The Head of St Mungo's leaned back in the chair, steepling her fingers thoughtfully. "Immoral, or merely illegal, Severus? You and I know that there is a world of difference between the two."

* * *

Three hours later, Snape had been granted his own longterm leave of absence and was standing impatiently on the grand front portico of Malfoy Manor waiting for someone to answer his knock.

Draco threw open the door, holding out a screaming, red-faced toddler like he was preparing to sacrifice it to the gods. "Your timing is impeccable. Scorpius had just fallen asleep when you began your assault on the door."

"Would you like me to enumerate the number of times that I was dragged out of my bed in the middle of a Scottish winter evening to deal with some sort of nonsense that you had created?" Snape returned sharply and stepped inside without waiting for an invitation.

"Fair enough," Draco agreed, his show of anger dissipating into parental exhaustion. "I don't suppose you'd like to give calming him down a try, would you? Astoria is away, the elves are on their half-day, and teething is not a... magical time."

"I chose not to procreate for a reason, godson." Snape gave him a tight smile and Draco raised a quizzical brow, finally catching on that something was amiss. "No, as pleasant as it is to see you and your delightful sprog, I'm here to borrow a book."

"You know where the library is," Draco said, rubbing Scorpio's back and making a shushing noise to little effect. "Come now, Scorp, the world isn't ending just because you are finally growing some fangs-"

"I don't need a book from that library, Draco," Snape interrupted. The pitch of Scorpio's cries abruptly shot up and both men winced. "I need a book from the section that your father supposedly destroyed."

"Ah. That part of the library." Draco was entirely nonplussed. "Do I want to know?"

"No." Gazing at the child with some displeasure - the level of sound it was creating was impressive, if utterly deafening - Snape summoned Yahtzee.

The elf popped into the Manor and flinched at the ceaseless caterwauling that greeted him. "What is that... creature, Master of Potions?"

"Your next task. The child needs soothing and a nap."

"And a bath," Draco added, brightening when it was clear that he was going to be relieved of baby-minding duties, at least momentarily.

Yahtzee did not reach for the baby. "Yahtzee does not handle infants. Yahtzee is a research-elf, not a house-elf."

"Welcome to your latest research project," Snape shot back with a scowl. "Life isn't fair, and that wasn't a request."

With a muttered oath, Yahtzee and the baby disappeared, a faint wailing still audible from the family wing. Snape and Draco immediately relaxed.

Draco gestured grandly down the long hallway. "You said something about needing a book, godfather?"

* * *

Despite being in an entirely different hemisphere, Melbourne was just as rainy and inhospitable as England. Being stuck among Muggles, and thus having to eschew the comforts of a water-repelling charm in favour of a battered umbrella had also not improved Snape's mood any.

He was lurking in a bus shelter on a quiet suburban street and had been there for almost two hours before the older couple emerged arm-in-arm from the dental surgery. Nerves froze his hands for a long moment, and Snape almost missed his chance.

" _Specialis Revelio_ ," he hissed under his breath, wand darting out from his jacket to cast the spell at the pair. A faint glow illuminated them both briefly, and Snape's knees went weak at the confirmation. His illegal scheme was possible, at least.

_But will Monica and Wendell Wilkens agree? And what will I do if they don't cooperate?_

Monica Wilkens promptly answered his knock at the Edwardian brick bungalow, still wearing mint green scrubs and looking slightly frazzled in the dying light. "Can I help you?"

Snape cleared his throat and tried to project honesty. "My name is Severus Snape. I need to speak with you and your husband about something very important."

She blinked in surprise, not at all convinced by his manner. "Just what is this concerning, Mr Snape?"

"I know that this is highly irregular, but it would be best if I spoke to you and your husband about this inside."

Her mouth thinned in a familiar way, and Severus knew he was seconds away from having the door shut in his face. "Please," he added hastily. "As hackneyed as it sounds, this really is a matter of life and death."

Hermione's mum paused, the hand on the door tightening as she stared hard at him. "Have we met?"

It was Snape's turn to startle; perhaps this endeavour wouldn't go tits up from the very start. "In passing, yes."

The woman's face remained suspicious for several more seconds before relaxing slightly. "Well, if it's important as all that, you might as well come in. But I must warn you, sir, if you try anything threatening, I will make you pay dearly. I have a blue belt in krav maga and quite enjoy hurting people," Monica informed him with cheerful violence, opening the door and gesturing him into the open plan lounge.

Wendell Wilkens was standing at the kitchen island holding a large paring knife over a pile of veg. "You may or may not already know this, Mr Snape, but my wife and I are dentists. As a consequence, we enjoy the odd bit of torture. It's an occupational hazard, I'm afraid." Point made, he began to finely dice a cucumber in a fashion that carried with it clear connotations.

_Merlin, but they are so much like Hermione it's absurd... it's clear to see where she gets her perverse sense of humour from._

"Understood," Snape said dryly and looked to Monica for directions.

"May I take your jacket?" she asked politely. "Wendell and I just opened up a bottle of wine if you would like a glass."

"Water would be fine, thank you."

After an awkward minute or so getting everything into place, Snape sat across the table from Hermione's parents and searched for the words to begin.

"What I am about to tell you is going to sound like the ravings of a madman. I only ask that you hear me out before showing me the door," he finally said and pulled a picture from his pocket.

It was one of him and Hermione at the previous year's St Mungo's charity gala. She looked perfectly lovely in a deep purple dress that skimmed the floor, and he appeared as he always did, which was to say ten shades of grim dressed up in decent robes.

"That picture is moving," Monica whispered, hand unconsciously going to her heart.

"Yes, it is. It's a wizarding picture. This woman," Snape explained, "is your daughter. Like myself, she has the ability to control and command magic. Her name is Hermione Granger, and she's a witch. Five years ago, she had to make the difficult decision to erase you from her life..."

* * *

Severus had to give the Grangers some credit: they did let him get the entire story out before beginning their ruthless interrogation.

"But you have no proof of any of this other than this picture," Wendell repeated, fingers drumming on the table with irritation. "That we have a daughter, or any of this magical nonsense, or that we used to be other people who lived in the UK."

"No. You have just my word. I'm taking a massive enough risk as it is just by showing you this photograph. The International Statute of Secrecy forbids this sort of thing, and if we are caught it will result in prolonged jail time for me and your memories of the incident promptly removed."

"Again," Monica Wilkens said acidly. "Supposedly."

"Yes."

"What I don't understand," she continued, "is why you are in such a hurry to perform all this hocus-pocus on us again. While it's regrettable that this... Hermione person is suffering from a case of depression, it takes time for people to recover from a shock. It's been, what? Only six months since you both were supposedly here -"

"Four -"

"Four months, then... it's not something I like to talk about, but I've been through a similar dark period in my life, and it was the better part of a year before things began to look up for me. These things take time."

"We don't have time," Snape enunciated carefully, trying to keep his temper in check. "This spell must be performed on the first night of a new moon, which has just passed. After that, it then takes an entire lunar cycle to come to fruition. Realistically, it will be two, if not three months before there is any hope of returning you to Hermione and in that time..." Fear filled his gut, and he trailed off.

"And in that time?" Wendell prompted with a raised brow.

He attempted to let them see the depth of his concern in his expression. "She could kill herself, or go mad."

Monica shook her head. "Mr Snape, as distressing as that possibility can be to contemplate, I can't believe that it's the certainty that you seem to think that it is. Are you a hundred per cent sure that this woman is likely to go mad if we do nothing now?"

"No -"

"Then I am unconvinced that there is anything for us to do at this point. Certainly, if things don't improve -"

Severus exploded from his chair. "You are not listening to me! I had to sit by and watch this very thing happen to my mother, and I'll be damned if I do it again!"

Slowly, deliberately, Monica Wilkens stood. Despite being a good foot shorter than him, she was no less imposing. "Sit down."

He did as ordered, a flush working its way over his cheeks like he was an errant schoolboy. _That's it_ , he thought despondently. _I've lost them, and now either I do nothing and lose Hermione, or I do this without their consent and lose Hermione when she finds out..._

"Explain what you mean by watching your mother go through this very thing."

Snape closed his eyes, not wanting to see the reactions across the table. "My mother was a witch, and from a pureblood family at that. Basically, you could say she was toff, and when she fell in love with a poor Muggle dock worker from Manchester at age eighteen, they disowned her. At first, she didn't care and neither did my father. Love was enough. As so often happens, Mum fell pregnant almost immediately and they were married. Matters were decent enough between them until I was three or four. By then both my parents had started drinking heavily, and when my Da lost his job, it turned nasty."

"Go on," Monica said softly, her voice so much like Hermione's that it was easy to pretend that he was in a safe place.

"It became intensely... physical. For a while, my Mum gave as good as she got, but when my da broke her wand shortly before I went off to school, it shattered her to bits as well. Mind you, she rarely used her wand - she could cast magic wordlessly and wandlessly better than anyone I've known - but that was it. She withdrew into the bottle. It didn't matter what marks I received, or the awards I took home, I couldn't touch her. Couldn't give her any happiness. She gave up."

A shiver rippled down his spine as Snape recalled those helpless, dark days. "During my third year, I went home for the spring half term. I said something mouthy, and my Da broke my arm. Mum tried to fix it. She couldn't. She had no magic left in her. And when she realised that... I'll never forget the look of horror on her face. Four months later, she filled her pockets with slivers of brick and walked into the river." He smiled without a trace of humour. "That old bogerol about witches not sinking is true, you know. Instinctual magic usually saves them from drowning if they can't cast a charm for air."

It was Wendell who finally asked the obvious question. "Did she sink?"

"Like a stone. It took three weeks before her body came to the surface." He sighed, tasting nothing but the bitterness of remembrance. "Hermione has already pulled away from us. She's already stopped casting magic and if something else happens to disrupt her already fragile state..."

"Mr Snape," Monica asked cautiously, "in all of this, you've never told us why you care so much about Hermione. Thus far, you've described her as your erstwhile student, a fellow combatant in a shadowy and secret civil war, and now a colleague and friend. Why are you going to all of this trouble for her?"

Severus knew that when he left this house, he would either be obliviating Monica and Wendell Wilkens or binding them into a vow silence until he could perform the ritual that he had found in Malfoy's book. Regardless, they wouldn't remember his answer for long. That knowledge didn't make the next words come any easier.

He took a deep breath in. "Because I love her."

From across the table, Monica blinked back bright tears. Abruptly, Severus recognised that he was crying too, the tears hot and sticky running down his face. He rose on shaky feet and strode to the window, looking blankly out into the dark street as he attempted to master his emotions.

"There was nothing I could do to save my mother. And there was someone else... someone who l loved just as much. She was murdered, and it was my fault. I cannot... I will not let another woman I love die. Not without doing everything in my power to stop it."

A loaded silence filled the room, half-plea, half-threat. Snape didn't have to spell out that the Wilkens participation in the endeavour was not something that was going to be left up to chance. _But can I force this?_ he wondered, turning around again. _Can I really do this without their consent?_

"Monica," Wendell said at last, sounding beyond tired. She looked at her husband, the wordless legilimency of a long marriage flowing between them. "We should tell him."

"Tell me what?" Severus stared at them, trying to suss out the missing pieces to puzzle.

Monica didn't say anything, glancing away from the table and her husband in obvious distress. He began.

"For the last two years, my memory has been getting progressively worse." Wendell stopped. "Today was a good day. Tomorrow... one can never know. I was diagnosed with progressive dementia a month ago."

 _Oh, bugger it all_ , Severus thought, a stab of grief striking him. _We are already too late, aren't we?_

"And I have been having dreams." Monica's voice was husky with emotion, tears beginning to flow. "Odd ones, for months now. That woman in the picture... she's in most of them. We knew… we know that something isn't right."

Wendell handed her a serviette before speaking again. "You said that you are a Potions Master, Mr Snape, and that our daughter is a Healer as well. Does that mean that you can treat my dementia?"

The recollection of the last five years of research flashed through his mind then, and Severus sorted through the possibilities. "You are Muggles, so there is still a lot we can't do. Treat it, perhaps. But cure it? Not yet. Magic cannot do the miraculous."

"We don't really have a choice in this, do we?" Monica interjected with an edge to her voice.

_And this is my Rubicon..._

Severus was already treading in dangerous waters; he didn't need twenty years as a supposed Death Eater as well as being a minion of Albus Dumbledore to know that he was merrily striding down a path to hell littered with good intentions. The magic he was proposing to do was grey at best, relying on a combination of Legilimency, memory charms, and blood magic. There was nothing that the Wilkens could do to stop him from forcing it upon them, and he had meant it when he said that he would do everything in his powers to save Hermione.

_But is this truly in my powers?_

Magic was all about intent, and Hermione had been very clear in her abhorrence of trying to restore her parents again. Without Monica and Wendell's consent in the process, would he even be able to pull it off? Or would he fail, and worse yet, kill the Wilkens? If something went wrong and one of them died, would he be able to live with himself? And even if it all went correctly, could he live with the lies of he did this without their permission?

But if they said no… what of Hermione? What if she couldn't pull herself out of this tailspin? Could he stomach that risk?

It was the hardest answer that he ever had to give.

"You do have a choice. You can consent to the spell, and we will proceed through the course that I outlined. That choice is, of course, not without considerable risk. It could kill us all, or permanently maim one or all of us. It could fail spectacularly... or it could succeed, and restore you to your original memories." Snape rubbed a weary hand over his brow, feeling like he was older than Nicolas Flamel. "You can also decline. You would have one of two choices should that be the case. I can completely erase all memory of this conversation, and I will not return to bother you further. Or, I could bind you to a vow of silence for your protection and provide you with what treatment I can for Wendell's dementia."

"And you would do that with no expectation of our further help or involvement?" Monica asked sharply, disbelief clear.

He felt sick with the tension of the moment. "Yes."

"And we are supposed to believe that you will just walk away from us and not do this magical nonsense against our wills the second our backs are turned?"

The faces of those he'd loved- and even several whom he'd hated- returned to him then. His life had been littered with regrets and rejection; there had been so many moments in his life that he'd felt denied of honour and true choice, when the only actions left to him were only the worst sort. _I have hurt so many in the name of the greater good. I killed Albus… I had to stand by and watch Charity and so many others die to satisfy some idiotic ideology… There were always justifications. Always reasons to do what I did. And now?_

No one was standing over him, ensuring that he did their bidding. Equally so, no one would know if he performed this act of magic without the consent of the Grangers; still, the outcome likely meant the difference between life and death for Hermione.

"Yes," Severus repeated quietly. Come what may, he would do this honourably, even if was the end of the line. "I meant what I said: I will do everything in my power to save Hermione. But I will not distort my love for her into something that causes further harm or suffering. She is a healer, and lives under the oath of ' _Primum non nocere_ \- First, do no harm'. I may not be a registered healer, but I have seen too much of death in my life to willingly create more suffering. It took me a long time to acknowledge it, but I live under that oath, as well."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2020 has been a year, that's all I'm going to say. Hugs to everyone who has continued to read this story despite my long absences; I have the next two chapters up and pretty well ready, so I'm hoping that I can post everything quickly and put us all out of our misery 🙄
> 
> Wishing everyone well!


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

**7 December 2004**

**London**

Apparating into a narrow mews located in Brixton, Snape peered about cautiously, confirming that no Muggles had witnessed his sudden appearance. _Thank Merlin_ , he thought after confirming that he was alone, _the last thing that I need today is to have to call the Muggle Obliviation Squad to clean up after me!_

His mobile gave an irritating beep and Snape pulled it from his trousers distastefully, noting that he had a new text message.

_Message From: Future Potions Parts_

_Message Text: master of potions the death tube has landed safely at heathrow. we is now stuck in customs. this is worse torture than soothing the blonde ferret baby. you is owing Yahtzee many many many many butterbeers and a long holiday. all expenses paid. will text again when we are in the fresh hell of a black cab._

Despite himself, Snape smirked. Although occasionally annoying, it had seemed prudent to arm Yahtzee with a mobile phone; even the best owls took several days to reach Australia, and when time was of the essence, Muggle technology had magic beat handily. _Well, that's one issue just about sorted. And now for the rest..._

Alas, Hermione was likely to be his biggest challenge of the day, and she was both entirely predictable—such as her new-found habit of not getting out of bed for days—and not—such as the time that she had thrown Potter bodily out of her house when he dared question her course of inaction.

The front of the two-story house in question was in shambles, flowers gone to pot and weeds taking over with all the wild abandon of Cornish pixies. Pounding on the door, Snape pondered how long he wanted to wait before simply unlocking the bloody thing himself and barging in.

After a wait of four minutes—three minutes after Severus started to thump on the door like it was bongo—it cracked open and a dishevelled head poked out.

"Snape?" she asked, blinking up at him owlishly.

"Granger. How kind of you to finally answer the door." Without waiting for a response, he pushed his way in and shut the door, glaring down at her in the dim light. _Jesus_ , he thought, _she really does look like shite. She's lost another stone at least… I thought Potter said he was getting food into her?_

"I've been trying to call you all week," he continued, crossing his arms over his chest.

The response took far longer than it ought. "I… I don't think my phone is charged."

"Obviously. When was the last time you showered, Granger? I've smelt fresher trolls." He wrinkled his nose theatrically and had the pleasure of seeing a spark of anger flare in Granger's eyes.

"You can't just come in here and insult me," she said with dull petulance, mimicking his posture.

He raised a mocking eyebrow. "I just did. Go shower, and then we'll talk."

"And if I don't?"

Snape pulled out his mobile and unlocked the screen. "I will start off by phoning him," he said with silky menace, pointing to a London number labelled 'Potter the Pest', "and then I will proceed to call her," he finished, scrolling down and pointing to another name with relish.

Hermione blinked in confusion as she read. "Who is '#1 Suffocating Weasley'?

"Molly."

"You wouldn't dare call them!"

"I have their numbers in my phone, which unfortunately implies that they also have mine and can likewise call me. As the cat is already out of the bag, I have very little to lose in this scenario."

"You bastard!" she shrieked, and he smirked.

"Go shower, Granger, before I drag you out to the garden and use the hose."

"Fine," she spat before marching up the stairs muttering profanities the entire way.

He waited until she had disappeared from sight and he heard the water come on before sagging back onto the wall. "Right… that went well. On to step two."

* * *

Snape was flipping the first omelette when Hermione re-entered, freshly scrubbed and smelling far sweeter.

"Why are you here, Snape?" she asked flatly.

"Because Sabrina is on maternity leave, and no one else in the department can do arithmancy worth a damn."

"I'm not in your department anymore."

"No," he agreed, ignoring her tone. "You are not in anyone's department right now." With a wave, he summoned his bag from the hall and withdrew a thick sheaf of papers. One non-verbal spell later, they were hovering in front of her face in what he hoped was a deeply annoying fashion.

She snatched the papers up with a huff. "What is this?"

"Recalculations for Wolfsbane, of course. Just as you suggested."

"I'm not your house-elf," Hermione growled, and it was the most show of life he'd seen from her in months.

"I don't have a house-elf," he returned snidely. "I have a research-elf, and he is currently busy with more important things than arithmantic equations. You, on the other hand, are not busy. There are errors. Fix them. This goes to IRB next week."

At the mention of the hospital, Granger seemed to deflate. "It's… it's not like that, Snape."

"What is it like, then?" he asked bitingly. "Because wallowing isn't the same thing as working."

Tears appeared in her eyes, and Snape was suddenly afraid that he had pushed her too hard. "I want to do things. I want to be better. I just… can't. You wouldn't understand…"

"Wouldn't I?" he said rhetorically, not giving her a chance to respond. "Regardless, you once told me that you owed me a debt. I'm calling it now. Get to work."

Granger sunk down onto one of the kitchen chairs and stared at him for a long moment in disbelief. With a resigned sigh, she opened the folder and began to read listlessly.

Snape's mobile beeped again.

_Message From: Future Potions Parts_

_Message Text: massive tailbacks on m5. the boot smells like yak vomit. do not dare to order food or drink from me for at least the next six months unless you want to be poisoned. Eta 1 hour._

_One hour… just one more hour and we'll find out if my hypothesis is correct…_ With a thump, Snape slid a plate of food over to Granger. "And I want you to eat something as well. I need your brain properly functioning to do the calculations. All this will do me no good if I must find another person to check your work."

* * *

Snape had his nose buried in the latest edition of _Ars Alchimia_ when the next set of knocks sounded on the door a little over an hour later. Granger startled wildly and looked towards the hallway in confusion; her hair had dried into a frizzy halo of curls, and it made her appear ridiculously young.

"What on earth?" she muttered, but didn't immediately rise.

He rolled his eyes. "Clearly, someone else has decided to violate the sanctity of your abode. Answer the bloody door, Granger."

"But… who?"

"If you had already answered the door, you would know. Go on. As previously stated, I am not a house-elf or a research-elf, and I don't answer other people's doors."

The knock sounded again, more urgently this time. Hermione got to her feet and made her way cautiously down the hall. Snape followed, surreptitiously palming his wand.

A burly, bearded black man stood on the stoop, huffing as he deposited a large suitcase on the welcome mat. "There's three more where those came from, miss. Best wheel them in or your parents will never make it into the house."

From behind the man, a tanned couple emerged; Jean Granger was supporting her husband, who was holding his head and looking ill.

Hermione froze. "Mummy?"

Jean halted as well, lines of stress and worry clear on her face as she looked up the path towards the door. Her expression upon taking in her daughter wasn't precisely joyful, but neither was it hostile. They stared at each other for a long, agonisingly charged moment.

"Hermione, your father's doing poorly. Can you please move the bags in the house so that we can get him in and settled down?"

"Yes…" Hermione breathed, and then turned and looked helplessly back at Severus. She was dead pale, the pupils of her brown eyes wide with shock. _Once more into the breach_ , he thought, stifling the urge to put an arm around her.

"Go help your parents, Granger. I'll take care of the bags."

Mechanically, she nodded and slipped around the suitcases. Looping an arm around her father's waist, she took some of his weight while the three of them moved forward again.

Swiftly, Snape snagged the two closest bags and pulled them into the hall. With a shove, he sent them rolling into the open space of the formal sitting room and went to fetch the other items.

The Grangers had just made it to the doorway when Jean eyed him suspiciously. "Who are you? And why are you in our house."

Snape was momentarily tongue-tied at her questions, although her lack of remembrance was something he thought likely to occur following his final spell. "I'm her boss," he answered, just as Hermione said, "He's my friend."

"Right, well, whoever you are, budge over, please. George, do you want the sitting room or the snug?"

"I don't care."

Snape did as ordered, going out to retrieve the final bag. Walking back into the sitting room, he found Hermione staring at her parents as her mother fussed over her father.

"You remember me," Hermione said at last, and her mother glanced up.

"Yes."

"How...?"

"How the bloody hell should I know? Darling," Jean Granger asked, turning to her husband, "should we call 999? You are looking worse-"

"No," George snapped. "I'll be fine. I'm merely dehydrated and hungry. The beef they served us on the plane was little better than dog food."

"Daddy, what's wrong?" Hermione stepped forward and took his wrist, a flicker of the healer pushing through the shock as she began to measure his heart rate.

"I just can't shake this headache," he grumbled, and both Granger women frowned identically at his words.

"Your father has been ill recently," Jean reported, tight-lipped. "The doctors diagnosed him as having suffered a series of mini-strokes back in June. I really do think that we should go to the hospital, George. If you are having another one-"

"For the last time, Jean, I'm not sitting in the sodding A&E for hours on end just to be told that I need a glass of water, some paracetamol, and a lie-down. I'll be fine!"

"Will you let me run a couple of diagnostic spells?" At her parent's look of confusion, Hermione added, "I'm a healer now. A… magical doctor. I can at least tell you if we should be worried about the headache or not."

Her father's mouth tipped into a smile. "Go ahead, poppet."

Hermione smiled wanly at the nickname, patting her pocket absently. "I just need my wand… oh, no…" She froze again as the events of the more recent past caught up with her. Glancing at him plaintively, Snape could see that she was afraid to cast any magic in case it failed.

"Accio," he said firmly, and with a clatter, Hermione's wand flew down the stairs and into his hand. Wordlessly, he offered it to her. Her fingers shook as she took it from him, and he decided it was best to offer a quick explanation before Jean started to question Hermione.

"My apologies," he said into the silence. "I haven't properly introduced myself. My name is Severus Snape. I am the Head Potioneer at St Mungos, which as you may remember, is the wizarding hospital here in London. Your daughter is healer there, although she has been on leave as of late due to her own illness. Hermione, would you like me to cast with you this first time?"

"You've been ill?" Jean finally stepped closer to her daughter, another layer of concern washing over her expression.

"I… yes. My magic has been rather uncooperative as of late. Truthfully, it hasn't worked at all for the last month."

"And is this a permanent problem?"

"No," Snape interjected firmly. "It is not. Would like my assistance, Hermione?"

"Yes, please," she answered gratefully. "Daddy, you might feel a faint tickle on your skin, but other than that, there should be no other sensation." The other man nodded tiredly, and Hermione glanced back at Snape.

Severus stepped behind her, placing a light hand on her lower back to better provide her with a source of energy. Taking a deep breath, she raised her wand and he laid his other hand on top of hers, a tingle shivering through both of them at the skin-to-skin contact.

" _Summa totius,_ " Hermione murmured, a spark of light arcing from her wand to her father. Above him, a multi-coloured wall of runes appeared. For the briefest second, Hermione leaned back into him in relief; for his part, Severus didn't drop either of his hands from her body until he was compelled to by the sharp-eyed glance from her mother.

Exhaling, Hermione started to read the runes. "Well, there is nothing exigent going on, so I think that we can skip a trip to the A&E for the moment. Your blood pressure is a lot higher than I'd like, however, and you are right about being massively dehydrated. Did you drink anything on the flight?"

"Only if it had scotch in it," her mother said with irritation.

Hermione huffed. "Dad, you know how important it is to stay hydrated when flying."

"And you know how much I hate being on planes, especially when forced into steerage."

"Right, well, let's get some food and non-alcoholic drink into you and see how things improve," Hermione said, starting to move towards the kitchen and then stopping once more. "Oh, bollocks. I don't think there is any food in the house at all."

Snape cleared his throat. "Expecting your stores to be low during your convalescence, I took the liberty of bringing groceries with me today. Assuming it meets with approval from your parents, I will prepare another couple of omelettes while you all catch up."

"That sounds perfectly lovely," Jean Granger agreed in tones that proclaimed that it was anything but.

"I don't mind cooking," Hermione announced, clearly trying to weasel out of the forthcoming interrogative chin wag.

"I insist," Severus replied dryly, ignoring her pleading expression.

"And as do I," her mother said grimly.

"I… well… thank you... shall I fetch us some water first?"

* * *

Hermione was thoroughly discombobulated, and not entirely convinced that this wasn't some sort of terrible dream. To have her parents abruptly show up at the door, two weeks before Christmas, and know that they were her parents to boot… it beggared all comprehension.

How had they been returned to her?

Further questions bounced around in her chaotic thoughts, and she could feel the edges of panic licking at her. Nervously, she settled on the wingback chair across from the sofa where her parents sat together. Even after a few minutes of quiet, her father still looked pained and her mother quietly furious.

_Oh, god, don't let this go wrong on me now…_

"What happened?" Hermione asked at last.

"I could ask you the same, young lady," her mum retorted, crossing her arms over her chest in a belligerent manner. "One minute you are seventeen and home for the summer holiday; the next thing I know, I'm suddenly living in Melbourne as Monica Wilkens and am oddly child free! Clearly, from the guilty expression on your face, you had something to do with that change."

"Yes. I did." Hermione swallowed. "What you didn't know at the time was that things had gone from bad to worse in the magical world. Voldemort was poised to take over the government, and you weren't safe. So I… I erased your memories and created a new identity for the both of you."

"Hermione," her father interrupted, "if things were so unsafe, why didn't you just go with us into hiding? Why didn't you say something at the very least?"

"Because I was afraid that you wouldn't let me go back to Hogwarts. And Harry needed me-"

Her mother glared at her. "So that boy was more important than us?"

"No! It wasn't like that. I knew that I couldn't keep you safe and help Harry at the same time… Mummy, I had an obligation to the magical side of things as well, not only you. Voldemort was a monster, and you weren't the only Muggle family who was at risk. Other parents had been kidnapped, even killed. I couldn't just run away and let other people get hurt."

"And so we had to pay that price instead?"

"I tried," Hermione said, biting her lip. "I really tried to come up with a better plan. But I couldn't think of anything else, and I couldn't abandon Harry. Not when so much rested on his shoulders." She sighed. "You two had talked for years about moving to Australia, and I knew that it was far enough away that you would be safe. If you didn't remember me, and something happened… you would still have been happy. You would have been safe."

Utter silence greeted that pronouncement, and Hermione felt sick, sure that this was all going to come crashing down on her.

"After the war, I tried to restore your memories. Twice, as a matter of fact. But both times, I failed. I thought that I had lost you for good. And now… now you both are here, and you remember. I don't how it's possible. It's… miraculous."

"There was a storm," George explained slowly. "Three nights ago. A massive one, with lighting and hail. We had just gone to bed when a bolt struck a tree in the yard. It lit up our room like it was the middle of the day. There was something… magic, I suppose, in the air. It felt like we had been electrified along with that tree."

Jean reached over and took her husband's hand. "And then we remembered. Not everything. We still don't. But enough. We tried to call the house to find you, but the line was disconnected."

"I stopped paying for it ages ago," murmured Hermione. "The only people who ever called were telemarketing agents."

"We dithered about what to do for a day, but it wasn't as if knew where the magical areas around Melbourne were to find help, and we couldn't figure out how else to contact you. So we booked the first available flight home, and here we are." Her father patted Jean's shoulder, and Hermione would have given anything to feel the same reassurance.

"How could you do this to us, Hermione," her mother whispered tearfully, turning back to her. "How could you invade our minds like that… take everything we loved and held dear away, erasing our lives without even giving us a chance to defend ourselves…"

"I'm sorry," she said, equally as choked up. "I never wanted to hurt you. If I could go back… I just wanted you to be safe."

"All you can say is sorry? We've just travelled back to England on fake passports, and heaven only knows what is left of the life we've built here after so long away. What happened to our practice, to our friends? And if we do want to come back, if we do want to live as the Grangers rather than the Wilkens, we have to leave our lives and business behind in Australia!"

Hermione dug her nails into her palms hard enough to bruise, grief cleaving her in two. "We'll be able to straighten it out, I promise. And I'll leave right now, if you want me to. If you need some space... I know that this is a lot to process, but I'll make it up to you. Just give me a chance!"

"How?" Jean Granger demanded. But before she could say anything further, Hermione's father interrupted her.

"Jean, stop," he thundered, standing up swiftly. "Look at your daughter right now. Just look! She's absolutely petrified and appears to be about as healthy as I am. Am I furious with her? Absolutely. We will be having a substantial discussion about this entire mess in the not-too-distant future. And yes, she did something that was beyond the pale, but we also don't know the full story. Why is that? What kind of parents were we, Jean? Are we totally blameless in this situation? For Pete's sake, woman, she was attacked by a troll at age twelve, and the following year spent weeks in the infirmary as little better than a garden statuary. And we sent her back year after year! Can you really blame her for not telling us the entire truth when it all finally went to shit?"

"George…"

He shook his head. "Are you really going to reject her right now? After everything?"

Jean made a helpless sort of noise, gaze darting between her husband and daughter.

"Come here, Hermione," her dad ordered, pointing to a spot on the sofa between them.

Hermione rose unsteadily and paused, staring at her mum.

Jean exhaled, some of the anger fading. "Listen to your father, darling. Come here."

Half-stumbling and half-running, Hermione made her way over to the sofa, dropping down with very little grace. Her father sat down next to her, and she was neatly sandwiched between her parents. George put a protective arm around their shoulders and drew the women in closer.

"Before the storm, we knew that something vital was missing from our lives. After the lightning hit the tree and our memories returned, we knew exactly what that missing element was… you." He squeezed them close. "We love you, poppet, and we came back to England as quickly as possible because the only thing that was important was to be a family again. Everything else… it's just details."

Hermione couldn't hold back her sobs. "I love you, too, and I'm so, so sorry!"

"It will be alright, my loves," her father said gently, kissing her curls. From the other side, her mother pulled out a handkerchief and began to wipe Hermione's face. "We'll sort out everything together. It's going to be alright. You'll see."

* * *

The Hermione Granger who entered the kitchen some forty-five minutes later was a red-eyed, tear-stained, fuzzy-headed mess. She was also gloriously alive and vibrant in a way that Snape had not seen since their trip to Melbourne; the hard knot of fear in Severus' stomach finally loosened, and he felt more than a little weak-kneed as he took in the much-welcomed changes.

"I believe that the worst of the emotional storm is over," Hermione said wryly, voice still husky with sentiment. "It should be safe to leave the kitchen again."

"I am pleased to hear that." He hesitated, putting the journal he was reading down onto the table. "All is well?"

"Yes. I don't know by what miracle, but they've forgiven me. Obviously, it's going to take some time to come to terms with everything, but I think that we are going to be alright." Hermione smiled suddenly, and it was blinding in its intensity.

"Good." Severus motioned to the three plates stacked high with food held warm with a stasis charm. "As promised, food."

She sniffed appreciably. "Has anyone ever told you that you are an absolute rock in a storm?"

"No," he answered, suppressing his own smile with an effort. "I believe the commentary usually centres on me being as stubborn as a rock."

Hermione chuckled, and walked over to where he was sitting. "Well, you are that too, Severus, and thank god for it." Her expression sobered. "Listen, I know that this is a lot to ask of you, but will you stay the night? I really am a mess, and if something happens, I want there to be at least one calm, magically capable person in the house."

"Of course."

"Thank you." She leaned down and kissed his cheek. Every fibre of Severus' body seemed to light up, and he was uncomfortably aware that he had turned bright red. "Will you come and eat with us?"

Severus cleared his throat and ignored the spike of heat racing through him. "Only if you promise to protect me from your mother."

* * *

Several hours later, Severus was settling down onto the pull-out sofa bed in the snug when a soft knock came from the door. Standing quickly, he opened it. Hermione stood on the other side, wearing a pair of ridiculous rubber-ducky patterned pyjamas, and Severus was deeply chagrined to discover that they did not lessen her appeal any.

"Problem?" he inquired, seeing that she appeared to be a bit wobbly again.

"No. I just wanted to make sure that you have everything you need."

"I am well supplied in both blankets and pillows. If I need anything else, I will either request it from Yahtzee, or transfigure it myself."

She nodded and bit her lip. "Severus… it was awfully convenient for you to show up here today."

He stilled. "What exactly are you asking me, Hermione?"

"Did you know that my parents were coming?" She held his gaze determinately.

 _Do I tell her? Do I dare? No,_ he finally decided. It was too much of a risk. In a couple of days, perhaps, but she was still struggling to get her feet under her, and he also needed to assess her parents to ensure that there were no complications from the magic he had used. "How on earth would I know that they were coming, Hermione? I came here with work and groceries to see how you were. And might I remind you, today has hardly been the first time that I've darkened your doorstep. Not two weeks ago I was here with Neville."

He could see the uncertainty flicker through her eyes, and he hated lying to her in such a fashion.

"Sorry," she said, looking down. "That was pretty accusatory, wasn't it? This just seems too good to be true. I keep waiting for something to go wrong."

"I understand."

Hermione took another deep breath. "Thank you, Severus. If it weren't for you… this day wouldn't have come. I know that I've been an absolute pill lately—"

"Have you taken a good look at your parents tonight?" he asked, seeking to divert her.

"I… yes?"

"Then you will note that they fairly sparkle with the remnants of your magic. While I cannot conclusively say what precisely has restored their memories, I do think that your… infusion of magic earlier has played a substantial role in the process. I also believe that the depth of your depression since we returned can partly be blamed on the fact that you somehow left the bulk of your magic with them. Had I not dragged you immediately home… well, perhaps it would have balanced out somewhat and you would have had an easier time of things."

"I gave my parents my magic?" she repeated thoughtfully, and he could see her mind begin to spin with the possibilities.

"Not so much gave as severed it from your core and forcibly planted it onto them. Now that they have returned, indeed, now that you are in the same country, your magic should stabilise and strengthen. I think that regardless of what happens between you all, you will be in a better place."

"Thank you—"

"You never need to thank me," Severus interrupted gently. "I do believe this is the sort of behaviour friends are supposed to display. I could be wrong, of course. Slytherins have a different definition of friendship than Gryffindors… or so I've been told."

She huffed in annoyance. "Oh, hush with the nonsense, you dratted man. I'm trying to thank you!"

"From thanks to insults in less than ten seconds. That must be a new record."

"Stop," she intoned firmly, and placed her fingers over his mouth. He froze, hardly able to breathe.

"Now, you listen to me, Severus Tobias Snape, and listen well. Without you, I would not have my parents back. Without you, I would be in a very dark, very lonely place, and I don't think I would have broken free of it. Thank you for being my rock, my protector, and most of all, my friend."

Hermione dropped her hand, and Severus immediately mourned its loss. He could find no words, and simply stood there staring at her like he was petrified. A faint smile touched Hermione's mouth as she took in his reaction. Slowly—and giving him plenty of time to pull away—she leaned in and hugged him tightly.

Of their own accord, his arms came around her back and pulled her closer. With a shiver, Severus gave her the only truth he could. "I name very few people a friend, Hermione, and only those who I know would support me through hell and back if it came to it. You are my friend, and you never have to thank me. What I do, I do with pleasure."

"Oh, you blasted man, you are going to make me cry again, and I promised that I wouldn't!" She sniffed wetly into his chest, and Severus couldn't hold back a rumble of laughter. Giving a slightly hysterical giggle in return, Hermione thumped her head repeatedly over his heart. "Stop trying to make me laugh and cry at the same time, dammit!"

Feeling like the luckiest man in the world, Severus only clutched her closer. "You may cry, laugh like a maniac, or even continue to strike your head on my person. It matters not. I am, after all, your rock."

Hermione shuddered, dissolving into tears once again. The release of emotion was as reassuring as it was frightening; his experience of comforting crying women was limited to his time as Head of House. _No time like the present to learn_ , he thought wryly, and guided them both to a chair before they both fell over. Somehow, Hermione ended curled up on his lap and he cautiously started to stroke her back. She burrowed closer and he took it as an encouragement to continue.

"Just let it all out," he murmured soothingly. "It's going to be alright."

"It will," she hiccupped.

 _I will never do anything to jeopardise your friendship,_ he vowed. _This is enough for me. This is more than I've ever had…_

"Yes, it will," Severus confirmed, and let himself shed a few tears into Hermione's hair.

* * *

When Hermione fell asleep on his lap, it was a pleasant, unexpected gift after a trying day; he let her stay there until his legs started to tingle with pins and needles. Severus was tempted to leave her on the sofa bed to sleep it out but figured that it would only further incite the wrath of her mother if Hermione was caught downstairs with him. It was only slightly amusing to see how suspicious Jean Granger was of his motivations given what he had disclosed to them previously. Oddly, he couldn't get a read on what George thought of him.

With a sigh of regret, Severus stood, shifting Hermione until she was cradled in his arms. Magicking the door open, he made for the stairs, careful to keep his footsteps light. At the top of the landing, he saw a flicker of movement and paused.

It was George Granger exiting the master bedroom, and he watched Severus and Hermione emotionlessly.

 _Well, it appears time for her father to make his threats…_ "Has she cried herself out?" the older man asked in an undertone, surprising him.

"Yes."

"Her mother rages like a three-day gale, and Hermione has always cried like one."

"So I've noticed."

After a beat of silence, George gestured to the master. "Why don't you put on the bed next to Jean… I think close quarters are called for, at least until things settle down."

Snape nodded his assent. "As you wish." As quietly as he could manage, Severus slipped her onto the bed next to her mother, slowly pulling the covers up to her shoulders. Hermione cuddled closer to her mother, stirring slightly.

"Love you," she mumbled and dropped back off to sleep.

His heart gave an almighty lurch, and Snape sucked in a sharp breath. _She meant her mother_ , he told himself. _Not you._ Hastily, he backed from the room. George was still watching from the top of the landing, and Snape cast a _Muffliato_ , understanding that he wanted to talk.

George shifted his shoulders uncomfortably. "Snape… I remember you. From before. I think that I remember everything. Monica... Jean, I mean, doesn't. She knows bits and pieces, but not a lot from the last six months. It's all muddled up in her head."

"That is unexpected," Severus said, unease sliding over his skin as it became clear that the magic spells he had used had not effected equal results.

"I thought so. The thing is, I don't think that Jean remembers that I was diagnosed with dementia. Could your magic have fixed it?"

"Anything is possible, but no, I don't think that it would. Magic typically cannot heal something of that magnitude."

He nodded once. "I don't want them to know." Seeing Snape's disbelieving expression, he sighed deeply. "If I've learned anything, it's that we never truly know how much time we have left. Jean and Hermione… matters are so fragile between them right now. I want them to be happy. I want them to heal a bit before we go careening into our next crisis."

Recalling Jean's earlier hostility, he nodded. "I can understand the sentiment."

George snorted. "I thought you might. When you came to speak with us in June, you said that you might be able to provide some treatment for the disease. Is that still true?"

"Yes." Snape shifted his eyes to the bedroom briefly, wondering how he was going to keep this from Hermione. "It would be better if your daughter understood the totality of the situation. For one thing, she's bloody brilliant. Believe me when I say that she's often the brains behind the operations in my lab, not I or anyone else."

"She is, isn't she? Brainy and bossy to boot. I always figured she'd take over the world someday."

"She did one better. She saved it."

"That's my girl." The humour faded. "I think you can understand why I want to protect her for just a little bit longer. I'm not suggesting that we hide everything from her, just the degree of my memory loss."

"It might come up on a diagnostic charm," Snape warned.

"So be it."

"We should be able to hide it for a while, especially if Jean's memory takes some time to solidify as well."

"That's all I want. A little extra time." He grimaced. "Strike that. I do have one more favour to ask of you."

"Name it."

"When… if something happens to me," George Granger said, voice turning rough with suppressed emotion, "promise me that you will look after my girls."

Severus touched his heart solemnly, fighting to keep a stiff upper lip. "As if they were my own," he vowed.

The other man blinked several times, eyes bright. "Good. Good…" He shifted again, exhaustion blanking over his face. "I will let you go to sleep, then. Thank you."

George started forward, patting his shoulder twice before moving past him and opening the door to the bedroom.

"It's my pleasure," Snape answered and cancelled the charm. "Good night, Mr Granger."

"It's George." His voice brooked no argument.

"And I prefer Severus."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, my thanks to all you lovely readers. It has been such a joy to read your comments on the last chapter, and I hope this one has lived up to the drama. Stay safe, stay well, and happy reading!


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

**24 December 2007**

**Whitby, North England**

"Are they out there smoking cigars?" Hermione's mum exclaimed with an exasperated huff, peering out the garden window to the two men clustered by the back shed. "Honestly, the nerve of them!"

Hermione turned her head to gaze out the window and held back a smirk as another billow of blue smoke drifted skyward. "It certainly appears so."

Jean shook out the embroidered holiday tablecloth with a loud crack. "And here I can't even blame that particular bad habit on Severus' influence. I'm sure it's all your father's doing. The things he has taken up recently!"

"Actually, in this case, you might be able to blame Severus. We have a new potions apprentice in the lab hailing from Cuba. Ten to one, the contraband cigars came from him."

"It's a nasty habit, and I've told George how much I dislike it." Her mother carefully laid the tablecloth out and Hermione obligingly pulled at the other end to straighten it. "We were dentists, after all, and well know the dangers that arise from smoking. The rates of oral cancers alone ought to dissuade him, nevermind the foul odours and stains!"

Seeing that her mother was working herself into a real snit, Hermione attempted to lighten the mood. "Well, he's had some choice words lately about your affection for shoes, so I'd say you are both about equal in irritating habits."

Jean glanced reflexively down at her newest pair of kitten heels and smiled. "Hardly. My shoe collection isn't going to kill anyone."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Hermione retorted dryly. "Dad damn near sent himself hurling down the stairs to his doom after he tripped on your pair of wellies that were left on the landing."

"I don't know why he stumbled over them. Given that they are green with bright orange stripes, it's not as if they are hard to miss."

"Alas, that's not what he said."

Jean let out another huff, rolling her eyes. "I can't help it if he's getting increasingly clumsy in his dotage. Your father has never been particularly stealthy, but lately, he's sounded like a bull in a china shop as he moves about the house. I swear, some days I wonder if he's doing it on purpose just to let me know that he's around. A bell tied around his neck might be easier on the nerves."

"Subtle he is not," Hermione murmured, still watching the two men in the garden fondly. They stood facing each other, almost identically clad in heavy woollen jackets and flat caps, the brief flare of red from the cigars their only illumination on their faces. Watching their hands, she thought they might be debating something, but it was hard to tell at a distance.

Her father and Severus' friendship was an endless source of amusement and joy to her; she had been utterly shocked by how quickly the two had become chummy following her parent's return. Hermione reckoned that it was good for the both of them. Severus had a very narrow circle of people who he trusted; likewise, her father had never really regained his old group of friends and spent most days in solitary pursuits. _They certainly seem to bring out the naughty lad in each other, however..._

"…and it seems pointless to deny it at this late stage, darling."

Hermione snapped her wandering attention back to her mother. "What?"

"That you are sweet on Severus. Why neither one of you will make a move, I'll never understand."

 _Oh, cock... Mum's not exactly one for subtly either. Still, it's a shock that it's taken her this long to come out and say something about Severus and I…_ Fleetingly, Hermione considered playing dumb about her feelings for Severus but figured that her mother would only delight in bringing it up later—preferably in front of him and thus ensuring that the situation went completely pear-shaped. _No, best lay things out properly so Mum understands what a minefield the situation really is._

Hermione took a deep breath for courage and said, "I'm not sweet on Severus."

Jean glanced up fully prepared to argue and then registered the intensity in her daughter's expression.

Mouth gone dry with nerves, Hermione continued, "I love him. I have done for several years now. He's brilliant and brave and snarky, and when he focuses all of his attention on me it's all I can do to not burst into flame."

"Oh." Jean sat down abruptly, deflating. "I'm not going to like this explanation, am I?"

"Probably not." Hermione sat down next to her mother, and Jean put a comforting hand out in response. "It's… complicated."

"Start with the basics, my dear."

"He's nineteen years older than me, was my teacher from age eleven to seventeen, and is nominally my supervisor now."

Her mum's mouth quirked into a smile. "That is a decent trifecta, but not insurmountable."

"Let's see… what else?" Hermione began ticking off reasons with her fingers. "He despised me for years until I guilted and shamed him into helping me find a way to restore your memories. Trust me when I say, it wasn't a good look on either of us."

"He's certainly fond enough of you now."

Hermione nodded in agreement. "He is. And that speaks more to his character than mine." She sighed. "How much have I told you about Harry's mum?"

Jean tilted her head, thinking. "She was killed by Lord-whatsit face when Harry was a baby, correct?"

Hermione snorted at the pithy description. "That's the short of it, yes. But the long of it is far more complex. For one thing, Severus and Lily—that's Harry's mum—grew up together and were best friends. As they grew older, he fell in love with her, but she never returned his feelings and it was all an ugly mess. I'm simplifying things enormously, but they parted acrimoniously and went very, very separate ways. She married Harry's father—"

"One would hope," her mother interrupted sotto-voce.

"…and Severus, unfortunately, joined the Death Eaters and became a fascist."

Jean blinked and looked out to the garden again. "Right. Not so funny, then."

"No."

"And then what happened?"

"Severus overheard something that he ought not to have, and repeated back to Tom Riddle- that would be Lord-whatsit face- as a way of currying favour. Riddle ended up killing both James and Lily over it, and nearly Harry."

"I do recall you telling us some of this. It certainly is grim history. Just when I start to think your magical world has some charm, you remind me of events like that."

Thinking of all the wars and conflicts currently brewing across the world, Hermione sighed again. "Alas, the wizarding side of things doesn't own the market on homicidal maniacs, Mum."

Her mother patted her hand, dismissing the comment. "Of course it doesn't. What did Severus do next?"

"The main reason he became a double agent was to protect Harry's mother; when she was murdered, he vowed to protect Harry and bring down Tom Riddle in her memory. It took almost twenty years, but you remember that he nearly died doing that, right?"

"Yes," Jean answered acidly. "Him and everyone else at your ruddy school."

"When Severus thought he was dying, he gave Harry a set of memories that granted him the last bits of information that he needed to know to kill Riddle. I've seen them." Hermione stopped, recalling the sheer sentimental punch of those remembrances. "I don't think that Severus knows that I've seen them. He'd not be pleased to know that I have."

"Naturally. The man abhors acknowledging anything to do with emotions."

"Mmm, precisely… anyway, my point is, the memories also let the cat out of the bag concerning Severus' feelings for Harry's mum. She glowed in them. Like... a Madonna. Like someone found in an illuminated manuscript. You could literally see his love for her. And then you could see how much it shattered him when she was murdered."

Jean was quiet for a minute. "That was what, almost thirty years ago? No matter how strong the love, most people move on. And it doesn't sound like Harry's mum cared much for him, besides."

"Severus isn't most people, and you know it." Hermione shook her head. "In all of the time I've known him—and this includes when I was a student—I've never heard about him being romantically attached to another person. As his friend, I've never seen or heard him indicate any romantic or sexual interest in anyone, period. And when someone has made a move on him, he's shot it down, swiftly."

"Well," Jean agreed bracingly. "That is certainly a barrier."

"That's one way to put it. Mummy, he's my friend. My best friend, if I'm being perfectly honest. And he's never looked at me as anything other than a friend. He's made his boundaries very clear over the years, and I don't ever want to risk losing his regard just to make a goose of myself."

"But if you told him that you loved him…"

"At best, it would turn quite awkward between us, and you know how painful that would be given what social misfits we both are. At worst… well, he has the lamentable tendency to lash out when he's not comfortable with something, and let me tell you, when he does, it cuts to the bone."

"I see. Any other reasons I should know about?"

"Simply this: Severus doesn't have many friends and no living relations. He hasn't said as much, but this is the closest thing to a normal family life he has ever had. He lets us tease and fuss over him because he genuinely enjoys being part of our family. This is one of the few places that he lets his guard down. Moreover, without him…" Hermione's voice caught in her throat, and she took several deep breaths to stave off tears. "Without him, we wouldn't be a family anymore. Yes, I'm in love with him. But I love him as a friend as well. I would never take this place of shelter from him, or disrespect his boundaries like that. Never."

Jean sat back in her chair, eyeing her daughter. "Well, you've certainly shot me down."

"Mum, I love you dearly, but if you ever try to play matchmaker between us, I'll hex your right foot so ferociously that it will grow two sizes larger and ensure that you never own a properly fitting pair of shoes again," Hermione said firmly, holding her mum's gaze for emphasis.

"Fine, fine, you've made your point." She huffed a final time, looking away. "I'm fond of the man as well, you know. I wouldn't want to hurt him any more than you do."

Hermione laid her head on her mother's shoulder, and Jean drew a comforting arm around her. "I know… and as much I wish I could have a relationship like you and dad's, it's just not in the books for me. And that's alright. I am deeply grateful for what I do have."

At that, the garden door creaked open and the men in question entered the room, still smelling faintly of smoke.

George Granger frowned when he saw them curled up together. "Is something the matter, lovies?"

"Just that you continue to smoke those horrid cancer-causing cigars despite my objections," Jean answered challengingly.

"What's a life without some pleasure, wife of mine?" he shot back, removing his hat and hanging it on a hook.

Jean rose, giving Hermione a last pat as she did so. "As your wife, I thought administering to your pleasure was my job. As far as you've indicated to me, there have been no complaints on that score."

"Oh, I've not had a one," George said with an affable leer. "I merely wanted to put a cherry on top of a perfectly fine—"

"Spare me my blushes," Hermione interrupted loudly, holding up a hand. "I know that we are supposedly a modern family, but that doesn't mean that I'm ready to hear all the gory details about your sex life."

Her parents laughed, and her father dropped a kiss onto her mother's cheek. Hermione turned to Snape for some support, but he only raised a mocking black brow.

"I hate to burst your bubble, Granger, but older people do have sexual relations. As a matter of fact, one of the fastest-growing segments of the population to test positive for STIs are the 55 and overs—"

"Severus," Jean interjected sweetly, "just who exactly in this room are you calling old?"

Severus stilled. "Your husband, of course."

Jean smiled, showing off her perfectly white teeth. "He's six months younger than I."

"Whoops." He remained deadpan as George chuckled darkly at the verbal misstep. Hermione stuck her tongue out at him, and Severus crossed his arms in front of his chest with mock irritation.

"Don't make me hex you."

"Try it," she teased back. "And when I get done wiping the floor with you, I'll tell my mummy and she'll have a go."

At that repost, George roared with laughter, "She's got you firmly pinned to the board there, Snape," he finally gasped.

Severus threw up his hands. "I concede."

Jean smiled again, this time with all her warmth "And isn't that just a Christmas miracle? Speaking of such, we need to get moving or we will miss the Carol Service at St. Hilda's. Severus, are you staying the night, or will you pop back down to Manchester afterwards?"

Severus hesitated before answering. "I'll stay here tonight if you don't mind. There's no point in going home to a cold house."

"Excellent. I made up the guest room for you just to be on the safe side. Shall we?"

* * *

Hermione was half-drowsing in the comfort of the back seat as they made their way home from the carol singing. It was a bitterly cold night outside the vehicle, and with everything shut on account of Christmas, the streets were darkly deserted. Despite that, the Volvo was a little bubble of warmth and happiness. She was perfectly content.

Her father and Severus were speaking quietly in the front seat, voices a complimentary rumble, and her mother was staring abstractedly out the window to the other side of her. Sleepily, Hermione stretched out and took her mum's hand, squeezing it. Jean squeezed back with a smile.

"Do you believe in god, Severus?" Hermione heard her father ask, and she listened interestedly for his answer.

"In the Judeo-Christian sense? No. Not at all. Any of the major religious texts—the Torah, the Bible, the Quran- despite any passionate claims to the contrary, were assembled and created as socio-political tools and weapons of their time. Take the Bible—most people don't realise that over the centuries, certain chapters have been pruned from it to fit the whims of the prevailing political powers. Indeed, many don't know how just partisan and weaponised the various translations of the Bible have been. Mind you, I don't throw the baby out with the bathwater; I do find beauty and truth in some of it. But I also cannot take the book as the literal word or proof of god, nor as an absolute set of instructions for living."

"So what do you believe in? It certainly sounds like you are no atheist. Are you a pagan, then?"

"I'm not a pagan for the same reason I'm not a Jew or a Christian. As I said, organised, codified, and politicised religion does nothing for me." Severus paused, and in the reflection of oncoming headlights, Hermione could see he was carefully considering his next words. "I believe in a certain spark of interconnectedness that unites us all—a soul, I suppose you might call it—and can be found not just in humans, but in other things as well… a beloved familiar, for example, or the sheer, stunning austerity of the natural world. As to the issue of that spark being God, or proof thereof, or even how our world was created, I don't have the faintest clue."

Jean spoke after a moment. "Do you believe in heaven and hell?"

Severus snorted. "I'm not counting on being granted a pair of wings and harp to sit on a cloud for all of eternity when I die, no. As for hell… given the depths of depravity that we humans can create all on our own, I am highly suspicious that any heated subterranean void could hold a candle to it. No, to me, hell is complete non-existence. You live, and then you die, and everything you were or did disappears in the veil of time. There are no second chances. And heaven- I suppose heaven to me is the good that you leave behind, the positive impact you have on other generations even if it becomes disassociated with your personal identity."

"That's a very Buddhist approach to living," Hermione noted, and Severus shrugged.

"Perhaps. What do you believe in, George?"

"I am a Christian, and while I do share some of your same reservations about the historical veracity of certain aspects of the narrative, I do firmly believe in the power and sacrifice of Jesus. Likewise, I take comfort and guidance from the Bible. While I can't explain everything—or really, most things—I have faith that all will come right in the end with His support. After all the Good Book reminds us that, 'For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.'"

"That's from Corinthians, is it not?"

"Yes. Chapter one, verse thirteen. Now, had you asked me the same question a decade ago, my answer would have been different. Given all that we have been through as a family, however…" Her father trailed off for a moment and then sighed. "Well, either you can believe that our coming back together was nothing but a sheer coincidence, or you can believe that it was part of a plan. I chose the latter, not the former. Life isn't fair, but it is demonstratively precious, and it is being given to us as a gift. It's up to us to do the rest."

"Hear, hear," Jean said. "Thankfully, this is one of the few areas that we are in complete agreement as a couple."

"One of the few?" George teased.

"Oh, you know what I mean."

"I do." Her father looked at Hermione in the rear-view mirror. "What about you, poppet?"

"Well, the whole, 'thou shalt not suffer a witch to live' was a bit of a turn off when I found out that I was one at age eleven," Hermione answered dryly.

"In the spirit of fairness," Severus drawled sardonically, "the linguistical twists and turns of how that particular part of Exodus has been translated first through ancient Hebrew, then Greek, followed by Latin and finally English means that we can't be sure if the original authors mean poisoners, herbalists, or merely people who use magic with evil intent when they speak of needing to kill _mekashaph_. It very well might have nothing to do with witches."

Jean chortled. "Darling, I do believe that you've found someone who might be a bigger swot than you."

"Perhaps," she replied, matching Severus' earlier tone. "Regardless, as both a woman and a witch, the tent of Judeo-Christian beliefs is not one that I feel entirely welcome in. Honestly, the lot of it has always felt like a set of rules explicitly designed to keep me quiet, compliant, and out of the way."

Fiddling with her knitted scarf for a moment, she continued. "I wish that I had your faith, Daddy, and I rather like Severus' notion of an essential, shared spark cut clear from any liturgical exegesis. I want to believe in something like that… but I struggle to do so mightily. There have just been too many times that I have felt utterly abandoned in the wilderness-sometimes quite literally- to see a plan or goodness in any of it. I suppose my faith lies in people around me, and in the redemptive power of love. I try to do the right thing not because it is demanded of me, but because it's the only way I can see a path forward. In the end, I live by the golden rule, not just my Healer's credo."

George looked sad at her response, but not shocked. "Keep an open heart, Hermione, and it will come."

"I don't think that I know any religious witches or wizards," she ventured eventually, addressing Severus.

"They are few and far between, at least here in Britain. The ones I know who are religious are either pagan or somewhat ironically, Buddhist. I think that most of us are blithely agnostic and leave it at that."

"It is quite a lot to reconcile," Hermione murmured. "You know, as a Muggle-born witch, I've always felt like learning to live in the magical world is comparable to the tension of converting to another religion. I've seen things, learned things… felt things, that I can't ignore. Those experiences have changed me in a fundamental way, and I couldn't go back to being a Muggle even if I wanted to. At the same time, not being a pureblood, or at least not being born into a magical family, I can't completely assimilate, either. There are certain Muggle sensibilities that I am unwilling to shed, and there are plenty of wizarding notions that I still find completely ridiculous even after almost twenty years. Oh, some people manage it—Harry, for example, but that's because he's gone all-in. Other than his relationship with Dudley, he's almost entirely divorced himself from the non-magical world. I can't do that."

Severus made a sound of assent. "You are caught betwixt and between two worlds… as a half-blood myself, it's a sentiment I can understand."

"Do you think—" her father began, and then suddenly cursed loudly, slamming the brakes. "Oh, fuck!"

Hermione threw a protective arm up with a gasp, seeing a deer standing in the middle of the road through the front windscreen. With a screech, the car spun dizzyingly at speed in a full circle, and she could hear the crunch of metal as they scraped against the barrier. Her mother screamed shrilly. With one last pop, they ground to a halt. No one said anything for several jittery seconds as they all looked at each other in shock.

Hermione contemplated making a comment concerning the infelicity of getting into a collision so shortly after having a robust conversation about God—was this accident part of some grand plan, or was someone merely being shown the error of their beliefs?—but decided that discretion being the better part of valour, it was not the time to be a smartarse.

"Is everyone alright?" she asked instead, unlatching her seatbelt with shaking hands.

"Yes, I think so," George affirmed, and everyone began the process of getting out of the Volvo.

Thankfully, the damage was far less than it could have been. Her father had missed the deer entirely- the creature had bounded off into the woods completely unharmed- and the body damage was limited to a long scrape down the driver's side of the car. The only thing that kept them from driving off into the night was a blown tyre.

Pulling out her wand, Hermione stepped forward to repair it, but her father placed a quelling hand on her arm.

"Don't," he said, a whiff of irritation turning his words into an order. "I'm going to have to take the car in to the shop anyway to get it checked out, and I don't want to explain why the tyre is in perfect condition and the rest of it not."

"Daddy, I can mend all of it—"

"I know you can. But I don't want to risk your Ministry suddenly deciding that my brand-new car has been turned magical and taking it away from me. It'll only take ten minutes to change the tyre."

Hermione stepped back, stung.

"May I lend a second set of hands?" Severus asked calmly.

"No," George sighed apologetically. "It's better if I have a good grumble all by my lonesome. If I had been paying better attention in the first place, we wouldn't have taken the spin."

"Go easy on yourself, my dear," Jean fussed, walking over to George and zipping up his jacket. "It's quite dark tonight without a moon to illuminate the road, and that deer appeared to be offering itself up for venison rather willingly."

George popped the boot latch. "Severus, will you take the girls up a little bit onto the slip road where it will be safer?"

"Of course."

Silently, the three of them trudged up the tarmac to higher ground. The wintery air felt like sharp pinpricks in Hermione's lungs, but the stars were particularly bright, sparkling with rare crystalline visibility that was utterly stunning.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" her mum observed softly.

"Yeah, it is." Exhaling, Hermione put her head on Jean's shoulder, seeking maternal comfort. A ripple of warming magic slid over her skin, and she looked at Severus questioningly. His wand was out and pointing at them.

"No point in freezing if we don't have to," he remarked diffidently, stepping closer to them.

Hermione smiled. "No, there isn't."

* * *

It took closer to fifteen minutes for her father to change the tyre; Hermione was watching George rise after tightening the last lug nut when another horrible crunching noise broke the silence of the night.

With a confused spin, Hermione searched for the source of the deafening tyre screech, seeing nothing coming at them on the empty motorway.

"Behind you!" George shouted hoarsely, arms outstretched in supplication.

Hermione whirled again. A tall lorry was jack-knifing as if in slow-motion, barring down on them from the slip road uncontrollably. In an instant, the headlights blinded her and she could perceive nothing but white light.

 _I bet this is exactly how that deer felt_ , she thought with dark, fleeting amusement, and instinctively threw up a wall of protective magic. Dimly, she registered a similar rush of power coming from Severus.

The landscape exploded around them.

Noise and pain swirled together.

Darkness.

Nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts, lovely readers?
> 
> As ever, stay safe, stay well, and happy reading!


End file.
